Over The Moon
by Lady Bracknell
Summary: Having made tentative admissions that all their sniping was a smokescreen for something other than animosity, Remus and Tonks test the romantic waters with a first date, little suspecting how choppy the waters will become.
1. Over The Hump

**Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling, and anything you recognise is her brilliant creation, not mine.**

**A/N: This is the sequel to Under The Table, and it'd probably be useful if you read that first – although obviously you're free to ignore my advice, and my puppy-dog eyes, and plough on regardless ;). **

* * *

"You look – well, you look – " 

It had been a long time since Remus had had a woman make an effort on his account, and he found himself not entirely sure what he should say. He thought that matching one's hair to the exact raspberry colour of the Chinese print on one's dress probably constituted quite a bit of effort, even for someone like Tonks, and felt he should say something fitting about how lovely she looked, about how the longer length of her hair framed her face very nicely and brought out the sparkle in her eyes, but he couldn't really think what. His eyes drifted down, taking in red tights and huge black biker boots, and he couldn't help but smile, in spite of how lost for words he apparently was.

Tonks stood in the doorway, one hand on her hip, and a slow smile crept across her features as she watched his eyes take her in.

Remus battled a grin, and lost. "Evidently you're waiting for someone else," he said, making to go back the way he'd come. "I'll leave you to it."

He just registered Tonks' flash of a grin before she disappeared from his sight as he took a pace back down the hall, only stopping when she grabbed his wrist and pulled him to a halt, laughing. "Hello," he said, his eyes roving her face, taking in, with some surprise, how genuinely pleased she seemed to see him.

"Wotcher."

For a moment they just looked at each other, her dark eyes glittering with a nervousness that he felt sure was echoed in his own. He wasn't quite sure why either of them should feel nervous – after all, they'd spent most of a day in bed together quite recently – but that was different, and whatever tentative admissions of liking they'd made before, this was concrete, this was real, and, he supposed, quite apart from anything else, this was new. They'd been alone together for long stretches on missions, ended up spending hours together in Grimmauld Place and having a resolutely lovely time, but never like this, never planned, of their own choosing, for fun.

Remus was vaguely aware that Tonks still had a loose hold of his wrist. He wondered what to do, what the parameters of this new arrangement were, but when he saw Tonks' lips curve into one of her intoxicatingly cheeky smiles and her eyes dart to his lips in expectation, he thought that she'd probably answered his unuttered question. He pressed closer and touched his lips to hers, and his heart leapt in his chest as she responded.

He rested his hands on her waist and allowed himself to sink into the kiss for just a moment, closing his eyes and enjoying the feel of her soft lips beneath his as she shifted closer and sent delicious shivers through his body. "I believe I promised to take you out," he said as he pulled away, caressing her waist lightly so that the silky material tickled the skin on his fingertips. Tonks swallowed, and one eyebrow lifted in question.

"That's why you're here, isn't it?" she said.

"Hmm," he said, "but if you kiss me like that again, I fear we won't make it to the restaurant."

Her eyes sparkled; his heart leapt higher. "Is that a promise?" she said, her voice low and flirtatious, her words tickling his lips.

The witty reply he had half-planned about it being a threat rather than a promise died on his tongue as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down for another kiss. He slid his hands into her hair and pressed her back against the doorframe, half-wondering why someone like Tonks would even give him the time of day, let alone let him mess up her hair.

When he finally pulled away, Tonks bit her lip and grinned at him in a way he found absolutely endearing, and utterly charming. All of a sudden, spending the evening with her seemed a thrilling prospect, rather than something that should be the cause of jangling nerves, a dry mouth and sweaty palms, all of which he'd experienced earlier in the day, and all of which had just vanished as he realised that this was what he wanted, what he needed.

She shot him a look that may or may not have been apology, and reached inside her flat to grab a small, khaki bag and a black cardigan from a table just inside, and then closed the door firmly, sealing it with a range of different protection spells. "So where are you taking me?" she said fighting to get both arms into the correct sleeves of her cardigan.

"Not far," he said, and she shot him a look of amused annoyance for his evasiveness as she straightened her clothes, but took his hand anyway.

They Apparated to a dingy alleyway in Soho that stank of stale fish and chips and something ammonia-based Remus thought it was probably best that he didn't put too much effort into trying to identify. Tonks turned to him and raised an eyebrow, meeting his expression of mock-weariness, which he'd chosen to let her know that he not only anticipated, but expected, whatever jibe was coming next. "Go on, then," he said, one corner of his mouth twitching and desperately keen to give away his amusement.

"Go on what?" she said, with entirely playful innocence.

"Say whatever it is you're dying to about me knowing all the best places."

Tonks bit her lip in consideration, and then looked away. "Actually," she said, "I was going to do the one about you knowing how to show a girl a good time."

"Really?"

"Hmm," she said, and although she tried to keep her tone even, he could tell she was dying to laugh.

"Come on then," he said, jerking his head towards one end of the alleyway.

"Are you sure you want to leave?" she said. "Surely every man knows the easiest way into a witch's knickers is a dingy alley that stinks of p–"

"Are you going to be like this all night?" he said, cutting her off, raising an eyebrow and making a show of annoyance he really didn't feel.

"Why?"

"Just, if you are," he said, "I'd like to know now."

"How will that help?" she said. "You've still got to put up with me for a reasonable amount of time, just to be polite."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Yes," he said, "but if you're going to be like this all night, then when we get to the restaurant I won't bother to take my jumper off, and then when I climb out of the window in the toilets in half an hour, I won't be chilled."

Tonks pressed her lips together in an effort to keep the laughter that was definitely bubbling internal. "All right," she said, rolling her eyes with impressive mock-concession. "I'll be on my best behaviour. I wouldn't want you to get cold."

"Ok, then," he said, offering her his arm. "Shall we?"

Tonks nodded, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow, and they headed towards one end of the alleyway. As they rounded the corner and stepped onto the busy thoroughfare, he glanced down, seeing what she made of it. Her eyes widened in delight as they ended up on a short mews, with a smattering of late-night opening boutiques whose windows spoke of exotic orange-coloured promise, insight and enlightenment.

The restaurant he'd chosen was set back from the road a little way, and as Tonks' eyes fell upon the booths in the window and the low-hung paper lanterns her face lit up, and he knew he'd made the right decision. "After you," he said, pushing the door open and eliciting a tinkle from the bell above the door.

Remus followed Tonks inside, and gave his name to a small, squat man with jet black hair and round, steamed-up glasses. They were ushered to one of the booths right next to the window, and the man offered them a menu each and scurried away to attend to some other customers, leaving them to sink into their dark red, squashy seats. Tonks smiled as she took in all the details of the place.

"How on earth do you – "

"Please, Tonks," he said, raising an eyebrow at her, "don't ask me how someone as boring as me knows about somewhere as cool as this."

She opened her mouth in astonishment at him figuring her out and just a hint of indignation, and, for a moment, he thought she was going to protest that she hadn't been thinking any such thing. "I was going to say that I wouldn't have had you down as the kind of person who knew Soho so well," she said, offering him a teasing smile, "actually."

"Really?" he said, with melodramatic disbelief.

"Hmm," she said, suppressing a laugh with some apparent difficulty. Remus propped his head up with one hand and regarded Tonks across the table through the flickering candlelight.

"Well," he said, leaning heavily on his hand and battling to suppress a grin of his own, "I'd have thought that recently you might have come to the conclusion that I am, in fact, full of surprises."

Tonks turned to her menu, dropping her chin down so he couldn't quite make out all of her expression. "Aren't you just," she said, her voice lilting with quiet amusement.

Remus reached for his own menu, scanning the cream card in his hands, taking in the Chef's Specials, the array of different side-dishes, and not quite knowing where the pleasant churning feeling in his stomach had come from. It had something to do with the tone of her voice, how knowing it was, although he couldn't quite claim to have figured it all out yet. Whatever it was, though, he thought he liked it.

He gave Tonks a moment to either actually peruse the menu or to make a good enough show of pretending that that was what she was doing, and then glanced up. Her eyes were darting from dish to dish, occasionally widening in delight at something she'd found, something that tickled her fancy. He smiled at the thought, and, sensing he was watching, she looked up. "It all sounds really good," she said. "What do you fancy?"

"I'm not sure," he said. "The hot and sour big bowl noodles are excellent here, as is their house special ho fun, and I can heartily recommend the beef in black bean sauce – " He'd been about to start waxing poetic about their mini spring rolls, but Tonks was gazing at him so curiously that he stopped. "What?"

"This is where you always bring girls, then, is it?" she said, smiling rather slyly.

Remus studied the list of Chef's Specials more intently. "What makes you think that?" he said, refusing to look up and meet her eyes for fear that he might laugh out loud at the suggestion that he had anywhere that he _usually_ took girls. But he couldn't deny that Tonks thinking that he might have such a place, that doing this kind of thing was a regular occurrence for him, was immensely flattering. When she looked at him, she saw the kind of man girls – multiple girls – might have wanted to do this with. His heart beat more fiercely at the thought.

"Nothing," she said. "You just seem quite familiar with the menu."

"And from that you assumed that I must have a string of exes as long as the list of side-dishes?" he said.

He glanced up and met her eye, and Tonks leant forward, resting one elbow on the table, her chin in her palm, and peered at him inquiringly. "Do you?" she said, her eyes dancing with inquisitiveness, and he raised an eyebrow in response and then went back to his menu, trying not to smile. Tonks waited a moment, and then when it dawned on her that he probably wasn't going to say anything, she let out a long, amused sigh. "We're going to have to have The Talk at some point, you know," she said.

"The Talk?" he said, looking up and frowning at her in question.

"Hmm. You know," she said, "the one where you get to tell me how you wound up single, and then quiz me about how many other blokes I might have done this with. You tell me a tale that makes me feel sorry for you, and I lie for the sake of your ego."

"That's how it works, is it?"

"Normally."

"Well," he said, "I don't think that's a very good idea in this particular case."

"No?" she said, bringing her other elbow up to join its fellow and resting her head on both, her fingers cupping her cheeks. "Lots of skeletons in your romantic cupboard, then? Is that why you don't like to talk about your sex-life?"

"Not at all," Remus said, his eye caught by the squat man from earlier approaching. He leant forward just a little, fixing his gaze on Tonks', and lowering his voice. "It's not a good idea because the thought of you being with anyone but me drives me just a little bit crazy, and I can assure you that the very last thing you want on your hands is a jealous werewolf."

He looked up as the waiter neared their table, but didn't fail to register Tonks' eyes widening in surprise, or the faint smile that crept across her features at his words. He tried not to snigger at his own admission, although it wasn't lost on him how much she seemed to like it. "Can I get you something to drink?" the waiter said.

"Tonks?"

"Erm – beer," she said, meeting his eyes rather coyly.

"I'll have the same," Remus said.

The waiter scribbled a note in the book he was carrying, and then indicated their menus with a lazy wave. "Ready to order?"

Remus raised an eyebrow in question, and Tonks bit her lip. "I'm not sure," she said.

"Well if you wanted," he said, leaning forward and indicating the spot on her menu, "we could get the selection platter – then you could try lots of different things."

"Ok," she said, her eyes full of playful twinkle. "Since you're the expert."

The waiter nodded and then scurried away towards the kitchen, and Remus sank back in his seat, enjoying the twinkle in her eyes as she looked at him. He thought he was probably returning her gaze with a rather dazzled one of his own, but as much as he tried to shake it, he couldn't.

She really did look delightful. He leant towards her a little, studying the candle on the table for a moment and deciding whether he really did have the nerve to say what he thought he wanted to. He raised his eyes to hers slowly, and she lifted her eyebrows at him in expectation, the faintest trace of a smile tugging on the corners of her mouth. "You look really lovely tonight," he said.

"Don't I always?" she said, and, despite the tease in her voice, her eyes sparkled appreciatively.

"Yes, you do," he said quietly.

"Told you I was fanciable," she said, and he laughed, glancing down at the candle between them and watching some wax drip down the side. "And – you know – you look – "

He looked up and raised an eyebrow at her, wondering what word a person like Tonks would use to describe a person like him. He didn't think she'd chose handsome, and he hoped that these days 'git' was a little closer to being off the cards than it had been previously, but other than that, he had no idea. "Well," she said, avoiding his eyes, "you scrub up pretty nicely."

"And here I was assuming you liked my dishevelled professor look," he said, and she chuckled.

The waiter came over and deposited two bottles of beer on the table with a nod, and then scurried away again. Tonks leaned on her elbows and peered up at Remus through her raspberry hair. "So how _do_ you know about this place?" she said, her eyes quickly scanning the interior and then darting appraisingly over him, trying to figure out how the two might fit together.

"I used to live around here," he said, "during the first war. Only back then it was a bit – well, seedier. It's changed a lot."

"And what would a man like you be doing living somewhere seedy?" she said, raising an eyebrow at him.

"One day," he said, smiling slightly to himself, "I really am going to do something to shake your view of me as boring and dependable and sensible once and for all."

"Really?" she said, eyes lighting up.

"No," he said, and she laughed.

"Well," she said, raising her bottle at him, "either way, that sounds interesting."

"Cheers," he said, clinking his against hers in some promise he couldn't quite fathom the details of.

They chatted about nothing in particular until their food arrived, and Remus couldn't help but grin at the look of glee on Tonks' face as she took in the selection of dishes that the waiter deposited on their table. She thanked him enthusiastically and then turned back to the tiny red plates and dishes, looking from one to the other and wondering which to try first. "Oh," she said, a small crease of a frown appearing between her eyebrows. "I think he forgot the cutlery."

Remus reached for the paper-wrapped chopsticks that were half buried under a plate of mini spring rolls, and handed them to her, and then extracted his own, bright red plastic ones from their paper sleeve and turned to the selection. He was just about to dive into the beef in black bean sauce, when Tonks interrupted his progress. "Chopsticks?" she said, and he looked up to find her eyeing the instructions printed on the packaging aghast.

"Hmm."

"You want _me_ to use chopsticks?"

"I suppose you could always just shovel it into your mouth with your fingers," he said. Tonks grimaced at him in mock-annoyance and then unwrapped her chopsticks, frowning at them in confusion for a moment.

"How do I..?"

She furrowed her brow at the instructions for a moment, and then tried to arrange her fingers as was shown in the diagram. She raised an eyebrow at the results and then shrugged and lowered them to a plate of prawns, from which the wonderful smell of garlic mingled with chilli was rising. She almost captured one, but just as she was trying to lift it, the prawn slipped from her grasp. She frowned, went back to the instructions, and then tried again.

She was no more successful than she had been the first time, and as Remus scooped up a small pile of rice with ease, he caught her glancing at his fingers and then back at her own. He tried not to laugh, knowing he was in desperate danger of having her return to thinking him a git if he let on too much how her struggle amused him, or why. She made a couple of attempts at picking up a prawn as he watched, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of black bean beef. "This is useless," she muttered, picking up a prawn only to drop it again almost instantly. She tried again, but the prawn slipped between its would-be captors with ease.

"I'm sure you'll get the hang of it eventually," he said, and she glared at him with such adorable petulance he had to try very hard not to laugh.

"Can't I just get a fork?"

"Surely you're not going to give up that easily?" he said, and Tonks glowered at him.

"This is impossible," she said, trying again and ending up just chasing the prawn around the edge of the plate.

"Here," he said, setting his chopsticks down. "I'll show you."

He moved around to her side of the table, and took her hand, chopsticks and all, in his, shuffling a bit closer so he could demonstrate properly. He adjusted her grip, trying not to let on how much the simple gesture of holding her hand in his affected him. It was a formidable task since she had him feeling like a teenager – or what he thought teenagers might feel like. He didn't know – he'd spent those years with war and worry, rather than womanising – but if feeling like a teenager left a wonderful tangle of nerves and anticipation and wonderment in your stomach, then that's definitely how he was feeling.

"Try this," he said, placing his fingers along hers. "You balance this one on your third finger, and move this one." He opened and closed her chopsticks for her a couple of times and then met her eye, catching the smile in them.

As a jolt coursed right through him, it struck him how much things had changed. Two months ago, she never would have allowed him to show her anything – or she'd have called him a smug bastard for offering, insisting that she was fine doing it her own way as she stabbed the prawns one by one with the pointed end.

"There," he said, surprised by how soft his voice was.

"Thanks."

He shuffled away a little and watched as she made another attempt to snag a prawn, getting it half-way to her waiting open mouth before she dropped it. She let out a quick frustrated sigh and eyed the prawn on the plate as if it was the most detestable thing she'd ever seen.

Remus surreptitiously reached for his wand. He managed to cast the spell without her noticing, and Tonks gave herself a quick shake, and then returned to the troublesome prawn, glowering at it with fierce determination. He watched as she picked it up with no trouble whatsoever and ate it with a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. "Oh wow," she said, her eyes momentarily fluttering closed with delight. "These are fantastic. Here, try one."

She lifted another prawn from the plate effortlessly and held it out for him, and, surprised as he was by her actions, he leant forward and ate it. It really was every bit as nice as the gleam in her eyes suggested, and having her feed it to him was….

He wondered if he should perhaps reciprocate the gesture, offer her something too. "Do you want to try this?" he asked, gesturing to the plate closest to him with a vague wave, and she nodded. He shovelled up a decent-sized chunk of black bean beef and offered it to her, and she leaned forward and ate it. She chewed appreciatively.

"That's nice," she said, swallowing. "What's this one?"

She indicated a small dish with strips of lightly battered chicken in it. "Lemongrass chicken," he said. "Try it."

She did, picking up a piece – and some rice – with ease, while Remus turned his attention to a dish of spicy noodles. "Mmm," she murmured as she swallowed. "We should come here again."

Remus smiled, not entirely sure if he was pleased that she liked the place or that she'd used the word 'we' and hinted at plans for the future, as if it were a given, and not something they were still testing out. He was still pondering which it was when Tonks caught a chunk of chicken in her chopsticks, and then gaped at it when they separated in her fingers, and the chicken stayed attached to the lower one.

"Have you – " She paused, and he knew in an instant that she'd figured him out. She dropped her voice a little. "Is there some kind of a sticking charm on these?" she said, her eyes darting suspiciously towards her chopsticks. He couldn't resist a smile as he nodded. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Have you had one on yours all along?"

He nodded again, this time including a quiet snigger. "You bloody cheater!" she hissed, eyes wide in indignation and, he thought, just a hint of something that suggested she was impressed. She slapped him on the arm with the back of her hand. "You had me thinking I was some kind of incompet– "

"Spring roll?" he said, offering her the plate before she could get any more annoyed with him.

Tonks eyed the plate, and then him, and then the plate again, and he could see the internal battle against laughter waging in the muscles of her cheek. Eventually she offered him a slack-jawed glower, and then took a spring roll from the proffered plate and dipped it in the accompanying sweet chilli sauce. "I'll get you back, you know," she said, the menace of her voice slightly undone by the delighted eye roll she offered him as she bit into the spring roll.

"I wouldn't expect anything less," he said.

They chatted as they ate, and Remus found himself amazed at how easy it was to talk to her. He'd worried that barbs and sarcasm aside, they wouldn't have a lot to talk about, although now, listening to her tell a story about her first practical assignment in Auror training, where she'd tripped and knocked the instructor over before he'd even given the instructions, he couldn't think why. When he'd been out with her on his birthday he'd found her questions and constant chatter irritating, but there was an easiness to being with her too. She never let a conversational pause linger long enough for either of them to feel uncomfortable, and she always had a question or a comment, or some story on the tip of her tongue to fill the gap.

"You know," she said, eying him over the beer bottle she'd just raised to her lips, "I expected you to make this a whole load more difficult."

"Me? Difficult?" he said, his hand leaping to his chest in mock-offence. She chuckled softly, and carefully set her bottle back down on the table next to the dish that previously contained spicy noodles. She stared intently at the candle on the table, and he watched her closely as she picked the wax away from the top, causing more molten wax to dribble down the sides.

"I thought you might have had second thoughts," she said, glancing up, "about this."

Remus rested one elbow on the table, raising an eyebrow at her as he curled his fingers into his cheek. "Disappointed?" he said.

"A bit," she said. "I had a speech planned."

"A speech?" he said, voice curving with amused astonishment. "What about?"

Tonks shrugged. "Mostly threats of violence," she said. "I was going to try and hex your emotionally-crippled wanker ways out of you."

"Oh," he said, trying not to smile at the thought. "Well that might have been fun."

"Hmm. There's still time, if you fancy it."

"I could give you the 'it was a mistake, we weren't fully in charge of our faculties, never should have happened, I think it might be better if we stayed just friends' speech, if you want," he offered pleasantly.

Tonks smiled, and then leaned forward, her eyes searching his, and he knew, just by the look in her eyes, that the tone of the conversation had changed. "Why didn't you?" she said.

Remus studied the table, offering her a half-smile as he considered the question. "Well we both would have known it was nonsense," he said, glancing up cautiously to meet her eye. "It wasn't a mistake, we did it entirely intentionally, and yes, we were drunk and then hungover and probably not in full charge of our faculties, but that's not why it happened." He ran a fingernail through a groove in the wood of the table. "And we both know it."

Tonks leaned on her hand for a moment, her eyes roving his face, taking in the details, and then she offered him a cheeky smile, letting him know that the tone had changed once more and they were back on more familiar, less serious ground. "So," she said, wiggling her eyebrows at him suggestively. "Do you put out on a first date?"

He bit back a laugh with some difficulty because whatever else had changed, she was still arresting company. "What do you think?" he said.

"I think you'd have probably put out in the hall, given half a chance."

"Well that's me outed as a shameless tart," he said, looking away, his lips twitching in amusement.

"Indeed."

"Drink your beer."

Tonks grinned, but did as she was told, and all too soon, he was settling the bill with the small, squat man and they were heading back onto the street. "It's still early," Tonks said, peering up and down the street through the drizzle. He watched as it settled in her hair, sparkling like miniature jewels.

"Are you hinting that you haven't quite had enough of me and would maybe like to do something else?" he said, and Tonks laughed.

"Maybe," she said, peering up at him through her fringe, her eyes doing a flirtatious dance with his.

"Well I'm open to suggestion," he said. "What would you like to do?"

"I don't mind," she said. "There's a bar near here I've been to a couple of times – it's pretty cool."

"Are you sure a man like me won't find it too frightening?" he said. "After all, normally I'm tucked up in bed with a mug of Horlicks by half past eight."

She eyed him curiously for a moment, as if she wasn't quite sure whether or not he was joking, and, finally coming to the conclusion that he was, she said "I think you'll hold your own." He let out an amused breath and nodded, indicating that she should lead the way.

The bar was small and dark, pulsating to the jerky beat of metallic-sounding music, and the air was thick with a vague sense of impropriety and sedition. The walls were covered with posters advertising the highly anticipated, critically acclaimed next releases of bands he'd never heard of, and upcoming tours by people whose names sounded oddly alien as he tried to roll them around his brain. In one corner of the room stood a bar with a collection of people who looked affectedly surly behind it, and in the other was a small stage, black curtained at the back and strewn with Muggle fairy lights.

It wasn't the kind of place he'd normally be caught dead in, but for some reason he couldn't find it within himself to really loathe the place, as he might have in other circumstances. He glanced over to where Tonks was waiting at the bar, all of her weight on one leg, casually leaning against the thick wooden counter, and wondered what on earth she was doing with him.

She paid for two beers and came over to where he was sitting, gripping her tongue between her teeth in concentration as she set them down on top of some flyers for a cool new club that littered the low table in front of him. She squeezed in next to him on the bench he'd chosen, crossing her legs and brushing the front of his with her calf. "So, do you come here often?" he said, meeting her eye with a cheeky smile.

"You're going to have to do better than that."

"Really?" he said. "I assumed that, since I bought you dinner, I didn't have to make any more effort."

Tonks gave him a playful slap on the arm, and reached for her beer. "I wouldn't have figured you for cheesy chat up lines," she said.

"Wouldn't you?" he said, reaching for his own beer and taking a sip, and then cradling it in his lap. "What would you have figured me for?"

Tonks considered him for a moment, frowning in thought, and then took a breath – but before she could get a word out, he interrupted, just because he couldn't resist. "Let me guess," he said. "Long-winded Victorian courtship, based on intricate, formal love-letters."

She chuckled quietly. "Well you did say you normally cower under desks and ask girls out by owl," she said.

"I did," he said, letting out a long, resigned sigh. "That was, of course, a gross exaggeration." He paused and took a sip of his beer, and then met her eye. "I nearly never get around to actually asking them out."

"So you don't have exes so much as pen friends?" she said, and he laughed.

"Something like that."

Tonks sniggered into her bottle and then set it down on her knee, toying with the label. "And what would you figure me for?" she asked, meeting his eye rather shyly.

"I'd say you probably drag unsuspecting blokes to places like this, ply them with drink and then take advantage," he said, and she laughed, knocking him admonishingly with her shoulder.

"Worried?"

"Very," he said. He watched her toy with the label for a moment before continuing. "Honestly, though, I wouldn't know," he said, meeting her eye. "I can't say I've ever met a girl quite like you before, and ergo I'm not entirely sure what your _modus operandi_ might be."

Tonks bit her lip and stared at him, a mixture of incomprehension and amusement playing on her features. "What?" he said.

"I was just thinking that that's probably the nicest thing anyone ever said about me that included the word 'ergo'."

Remus laughed and then took a sip of his beer, wondering if he shouldn't have paid closer attention to Sirius earlier that evening when his old friend tried to talk to him about suitable romantic conversation. "Do I get extra points for working in some Latin as well?" he said.

"Of course," she said.

"So..?" he said, lifting his eyebrows in her direction in enquiry.

"So what?" she said, her brow furrowing in incomprehension.

"Are you going to answer the question?"

"Isn't that my line?" she said, and he sniggered. "What was the question?"

"What's your _modus operandi_?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," she said, her voice low and teasing as she took another slow sip of her beer.

"You're the one who said you wanted to have The Talk," he said, fixing her with his best stern professor look, even though he'd never felt less stern or professorial in his life. Tonks rolled her eyes, letting out a sniff of laughter.

"I suppose I did," she said. She peeled one corner of the label away from her bottle, toying with it for a moment absentmindedly. "Well," she said, meeting his eye. "I'd have thought it was obvious, but normally I dance around a bloke for a couple of months and then persuade him to drink his own weight in tequila, shove him under a table and force him to lick my stomach."

"And that normally works, does it?"

"Hmm," she said, glancing up at the ceiling in thought. "Only tried it once, but so far so good."

Tonks let out an adorable giggle that reverberated right through his body from where their shoulders were touching, and he shifted a little closer so that their legs pressed together. "What's the worst date you've ever been on?" she said, smiling at their increased contact.

"Why?" he said. "Should I worry that for you, this is a contender?"

"No," she said, her lips twitching with amusement. "I'm having a very nice time. I'm just interested."

Remus lifted his beer to his lips and took a sip, and Tonks eyed him suspiciously. He got the distinct impression that she was weighing up whether or not he was stalling, and possibly whether he was going to answer the question at all. He thought that if he did, she'd read more into his answer than the simple facts he disclosed. "There was one occasion – "

"So you have done this before, then?" she said, and he raised an eyebrow at her in admonishment, even though he really didn't mind her teasing. "Sorry," she said, with a wave of mock contrition. "Carry on."

He surveyed her for a moment, as if considering whether he was going to continue or not, until Tonks poked him in the arm and raised an eyebrow at him tersely. He smiled to himself. "As I was saying," he said. "There was one occasion when I went out with a girl only to have her bend my ear all day about the availability of one of my friends – in whom she was clearly more interested than me. She probably thought she was being subtle enough that I wouldn't notice, but…. That was consigned to my least pleasurable afternoons pile." He took another sip of his beer and then met her eye, and Tonks offered him a sympathetic frown.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing," he said. "We walked back to the castle, and I lied, told her I'd had a nice time."

Tonks hummed thoughtfully, gazing at him as if she was desperately trying to find somewhere in her composite image of him to make use of that snippet of information. "How about you?" he said, taking a sip of his beer. Tonks rolled her eyes.

"It was this guy from Magical Law Enforcement," she said, grimacing. "All hands."

"Which I daresay you dealt with admirably," he said.

"I think I taught him a lesson," she said, smiling at the thought.

"What did you do?"

"Hit him with a very light forgetfulness spell," she said, "so every time he had a spare ten minutes he'd be convinced he'd left the oven on and have to dash home."

Remus laughed, and she smiled, her eyes twinkling at his amusement. He drained his beer, and, glancing down and finding Tonks' bottle nearly empty too, he gestured to it. "Would you like another one?"

She murmured her assent, and he went to the bar, mentally running an inventory of the jumble of notes and coins in his pocket and wondering how many more he could afford to pay for.

Luckily, the bar was nowhere near as expensive as he'd feared it might be, and when he returned to their table, Tonks was chatting animatedly with a young man with a mop of curly brown hair, who was wearing a T shirt baring the legend 'Money For Old Rope'. Tonks looked up as he approached, and Remus put the two bottles of beer on the table and then met her eye before turning to greet the man she was talking to.

His eyes fell on a vaguely familiar boyish face. "Remus, this is my friend Michael," Tonks said. "Michael, this is – "

"Professor Lupin!"

Remus tried to keep his face pleasantly neutral instead of utterly horrified as realisation hit him: Michael Abraham. He'd taken him for NEWT Defence Against The Dark Arts.

Michael quickly got to his feet, wiping his hand on his T shirt before offering it to him, and Remus managed a greeting, a shake of hands, an enquiry about what his former student had been up to. He glanced at Tonks, trying to read in her eyes what she thought about the fact that she was friends with someone he had taught, and by the time he'd figured out that he couldn't quite tell from looking, Michael had launched into some explanation of his teaching prowess for Tonks' benefit.

"…and then obviously we had to re-do all the nonsense Lockhart taught us. Did two year's work in a year, basically. It's a miracle any of us passed at all, really. All thanks to Professor Lupin."

"Really it wasn't – "

"Never thought I'd see you in a place like this, though," Michael said, his brow creasing underneath his frizzy hair.

"I assure you that makes two of us," Remus replied, shooting Tonks a brief raised eyebrow and a tight smile.

Michael's eyes widened and switched between them quickly. Then he let out a soft "Oh," and shifted from foot to foot, staring at the floor. "You two are…."

He trailed off, and then spotted some friends on the other side of the bar, said a goodbye that sounded desperately like an excuse to be anywhere else, and left. "Well, I think you just shattered his illusion of you as a staid professor," Tonks said.

"Hmm."

Remus sank back onto the bench next to Tonks, not quite sure what he should say. He leaned forward and retrieved their beers from where he'd left them, handing one to Tonks and taking a long drink from his own while he thought. Eventually, he settled on a question. "And how do you know Michael..?"

"From Hogwarts. He's my mate's little brother," she said.

"Oh."

"He's a good kid," she said, taking a sip of her beer. He marvelled at how strange it sounded for her to use a word like 'kid' to describe someone so close to her age. He shifted a little on the bench.

"I remember," he said. "He was very able, once pointed in the right direction."

Tonks smiled. "His parents want him to get a sensible, safe job at Gringotts, but he's a wicked bass player," she said. He raised his eyebrows in some brief show of interest and acknowledgement, but couldn't really think of anything to say, and as the minutes passed and he sipped his drink just for something to do, his thoughtful frown deepened.

Tonks leant back against the wall, regarding him searchingly for a moment, and he reached for his beer and took a quick swig, wondering why a phrase about steadying nerves kept sauntering through his mind. "You're not going to get all weird about this, are you?" she said.

"Weird?" he said.

"About the age thing."

"Oh. No," he said, even though he wasn't sure that he wasn't.

The look of challenge in Tonks' eyes told him that she wasn't fooled by his assertion any more than he was, and she considered him for a moment, weighing him up. He shifted on the bench again and looked away, unable to meet her gaze any longer, even though he knew his actions were speaking volumes in contradiction of his words. "Prove it," she said, and his eyes swung back to hers entirely of their own accord.

"What?"

"Prove it. Prove it doesn't bother you."

Remus raised an eyebrow at her, even as any weirdness he might have felt dissolved a little under the weight of her soft, flirtatious smile. He dropped his empty bottle onto the table and then leant back, nestling his shoulder against hers. "And how do you suggest I do that?" he said.

Tonks twitched her eyebrows at him and shifted just a little closer, pressing her thigh against his and brushing his arm with hers. "I'm sure you'll think of something," she said, and he smiled.

Only one thing he could think of seemed to really fit the bill, and although he wasn't normally the kind of person who kissed in bars, he found he couldn't quite resist the impulse. He'd wanted to kiss her like he had in the hall all evening – if he was honest, he'd just been waiting for an opportunity, and here she was, fixing him with a gaze of adorable, playful confrontation, and so close he could see all the flecks of different colours in her eyes and smell her light, grassy perfume. His fingers strayed to her knee almost entirely of their own accord, and he eased towards her until he could almost feel her breath on his lips.

"Professor Lupin?"

Remus closed his eyes and grimaced. "No," he muttered. "I'm someone else entirely."

Tonks smirked at him, and he turned to face the voice that had interrupted them. He took in the features of the girl who stood next to the table, and put a name to the face almost instantly: Louise Hayes. "Oh, hello," he said pleasantly, his voice a little more hoarse than usual.

"Michael said you were here. I didn't – er – interrupt something, did I?"

"No," Remus said, shaking his head as he eased himself out from underneath Tonks' limbs and stood up. "This is my – " He toyed with a couple of different words, wondering what exactly Tonks was to him these days, and found only answers that churned his insides. " – er – friend, Tonks." He glanced at Tonks, wondering if she'd be offended that he hadn't referred to her by a more affectionate or familiar term, but she smiled, and so he continued. "This is Louise, another one of my former pupils."

"Wotcher," Tonks said, getting to her feet and extending a hand to Louise.

"Michael said you were an Auror," she said, her eyes widening.

"Yeah," Tonks said.

"That must be so exciting."

"Has its moments."

"You must be really clever. Are you one of Professor Lupin's students too? From somewhere else?"

"No," Tonks said, her voice lilting with amusement, even though she kept her face straight. "Although I _was_ hoping he was about to teach me a thing or two."

Remus felt his face redden, but he couldn't help the slight smile that formed regardless. Louise looked from him to Tonks and back again, her brow furrowed in what he supposed was confusion. They probably did look like an unlikely pair. "So," he said, just to give himself something to do other than feel uncomfortable. "Louise. How's the – er – herbology business?"

"Very good," she said. "We've had a bumper crop of Mandrakes this year, for some reason."

"Excellent."

"Dad's talking about trying to cross-pollinate them with a French variety that doesn't make such a fuss when you re-pot them."

"I'm sure the residents of Dorset will be pleased to hear it. And your sister? She's well?"

"Yeah," Louise said. "Thinks she's all grown up now she's a third year. Hates the new Defence teacher, though. What's her name? Dolores something."

"Umbridge," Tonks interjected.

"Yeah, that's it. Sounds like a right cow." Louise looked momentarily embarrassed at having used such a word in front of a teacher, and then shrugged. "Well, I'd better go. Me and Michael are off to this new club – are you coming?"

Tonks turned to him for a verdict, the briefest hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Er, no, I don't think so," Remus said. "I think we're going to – " His mind went blank. He had no idea what he and Tonks were going to do. " – er – do something else." He finished his sentence with a weak smile. "Good to see you again, though."

They exchanged goodbyes, and Remus breathed a sigh of relief. Tonks eyed him mischievously for a moment, and then reached for his shoulders and pushed him back onto the bench, sliding in next to him. She offered him a slow, flirtatious smile that very nearly made him forget they'd been interrupted at all, and said "Now, where were we?"

"No idea," he said, softly, trying to keep his smile to himself as he moved in to kiss her.

"See you, Professor Lupin."

He closed his eyes in a brief wince of frustration, and when he opened them again, Tonks had her mouth covered with her hand and was biting back hysterical laughter rather unsuccessfully. This time Louise at least had the good grace to smirk as she passed.

Tonks bit her lip as she tried to stop laughing. "Third time lucky?" she said, and her eyes twinkled.

"I think we'd be slightly better off making a run for it before someone else recognises me," he said.

"You think?"

"Hmm," he said. "Have you finished your drink?"

Tonks raised her bottle to her lips, drained it, and then put it back on the table, nodding. He slid his hand into hers and got to his feet. "Where are we going?" Tonks said, grinning as she stood up to join him.

"No idea."

The air outside was cold and crisp, and they set off down the road with no particular plan for a destination. The streets were a little less busy than they had been earlier, and the shops had closed for the night, although some had left twinkling lights on in their windows. Half of Remus thought that maybe they should just find somewhere appropriate so they could Disapparate home, but the rest of him was enjoying Tonks company far too much, and his mind had just stumbled upon a rather good idea.

He lead Tonks to the small park he'd been so fond of when he lived here. It was only a couple of streets away from the proper hustle and bustle of the Charing Cross Road and Shaftsbury Avenue, but it felt about a world away. He stopped outside the black iron gates and gestured at the trees vaguely. "Been here before?" he asked.

"No," she said. "I can't believe there's somewhere like this right here."

The twittering of a bird in a tree above them caught their attention, and Tonks pressed against the railings like an eager child for a closer look. Her eyes fell upon a placard denoting the place's history, and her eyes widened. "Phoenix Park?" she said.

"Yes," he said. "That wasn't lost on me either. I used to come here sometimes, during the last war, to think."

"Oh," she said quietly.

"Do you want to go in?" he said.

Tonks face took on an adorable expression, a mixture of intense mischief and mock-disapproval. "It's locked," she said. "You wouldn't be suggesting we do something naughty, would you Professor?"

"No," he said, stifling a snigger with some difficulty. "Of course not."

He shot a furtive glance down the street to make sure no-one was watching, and then took Tonks' hand and Apparated them both to the other side of the railings. Tonks took a moment to steady herself on the grass and then took a good long look around, turning and taking in the trees, bushes and shrubs that surrounded them. "Wow," she said. Remus smiled, and it took him a moment to realise that the reason he was doing it was that he was surprised Tonks would use a word like 'wow' for something like a park.

He stepped closer. "You like it, then?" he said, and she nodded, leaning back against the railings and grinning at him with something that looked a bit like invitation. He leant in, heart racing.

"Professor Lupin?"

"Oh for the love of – "

Remus glanced to his right, where he was sure the voice had come from, but saw only a deserted pathway, and beyond that a street that glowed under faint lamp light and glittered with distant life, but bore no sign of any former student. He turned to his left, but that too was deserted. He turned around completely, scanning for any sign of life and finding none, and then looked at Tonks, puzzled. To his amazement she was shaking with silent laughter.

"Sorry," she said. "That was me."

"You?"

"Voice throwing spell. Couldn't resist it."

Remus felt his lips twitch in the beginnings of a smile. He stepped closer, and Tonks shifted back against the railings wrapping her hands around two of the poles. He leant against one of the railings, regarding her as sternly as he could when he desperately wanted to laugh. "I suppose you think that's funny," he said, quirking an eyebrow at her.

"The look on your face was priceless," she said, her eyes sparkling as she grinned up at him.

"You're a very wicked girl."

Tonks pressed her lips together and glanced down at the ground, and then looked back up again, meeting his eyes coyly. "That's why you like me, isn't it?" she said.

Remus hummed in consideration, and then stepped away again, trying not to smirk at the disappointed look in her eyes, the way her face fell, just a little, as he turned away and started walking across the grass, his hands clasped casually behind his back. "Is it?" he called over his shoulder, knowing that the lilt in his voice gave him away. Tonks laughed and it echoed through the quiet park, and then the only sound he could hear was her boots thumping on the grass as she jogged to catch up.

As they walked, taking in the array of different trees and revelling in the peace, serenity and quiet of the place, he thought about the things that he did like about her, which included, currently, the gentle pressure of her hand on his arm, and the way she bumped into him sometimes as they moved.

Eventually, they stopped, and, under a smattering of London starlight with the trees above them rattling the faint promise of a coming storm, he kissed her. He couldn't help but think of all the things he liked about her, and let her have a glimpse of that in his kiss, and when she responded hungrily, he couldn't resist taking her face in his hands and kissing her more intently, holding nothing back.

At some point, she Apparated them both to her flat and they stumbled into the lounge with her desperately trying to untuck his shirt, and he couldn't help but smile against her lips at the thought that yes, he did very much like her wickedness, amongst other things - although, admittedly, currently, it was quite close to the top of his list.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Anyone who puts finger to keyboard to leave a review gets a frisky werewolf and a selection of Chinese sauces to dip him in ;). **


	2. Over The Top

Remus loved watching Tonks sleep.

She was a very peaceful sleeper, and that made him feel peaceful too, contented, somehow, and every morning he woke to her pink, fluffy hair on the pillow next to him, he couldn't help starting the day with a smile.

He loved the way she curled up next to him, trying to get into whatever pocket of warmth she could find, and the way she let out little whispered, fluttering snores tickled at his heart.

He spent hours, sometimes, wondering what she was dreaming, whether he could presume to be a part of it, however faint, however indistinct, however minor his role might be, and he never felt it was time wasted, time he spent watching her sleep, because he knew that he was the only person in the world who got to see her like that.

Sometimes a smile would creep over his face as he thought about what they'd done the night before, or what he thought they might do when she woke up, and sometimes he'd play with her hair, or find a stray feather from his pillow and tickle her nose, watching it wrinkle up in irritation. Whenever he woke her up like that, she'd greet him by punching him sleepily on the shoulder, but her annoyance never lasted long, and they'd dissolve against each other in a barrage of kisses and giggles.

But today was different.

Normally, she was in his bed, or he in hers, with his tatty, worn sheets or one of her cheerful throws pulled up to her chin, not crisp white sheets with the words 'Property of St Mungo's' stamped on the corner in glittering gold lettering.

Normally she was smiling, dreaming, happy – her face wasn't frozen, expressionless, taut.

He clutched her hand in both of his, thinking that today, all he wanted was for her to wake up.

He clutched her hand tighter, frightened by how cold it was. He desperately wanted to make it warmer, rubbing her skin gently beneath his, begging for her small hand to warm underneath his fingers. He just wanted to do something to make her better, and at the moment all he could think was that if he could just make her hand warm….

He told himself not to be ridiculous. If he really wanted to make it warm he'd put it beneath the covers, but he couldn't bear to let go. So he clung.

_Please don't leave me, please don't leave me._

The words had been rattling around his mind all night, beating themselves against the front of his skull, his silent mantra, a prayer he couldn't help but keep repeating.

_Please, don't leave me._

The voice in his head was imploring, but he knew that if he wanted her to listen he'd have to say the words out loud. Whenever he tried, though, they got stuck in his throat.

He pawed uselessly at the sheet beneath his fingers, straightening out a couple of wrinkles before placing his hand back over hers. Guilt had his stomach in a vice.

He should've kept a better eye on her, protected her.

He felt sick that he hadn't.

He hadn't saved Sirius either –

At the thought, his throat tightened.

Please don't leave me. Not you too.

He couldn't bear it – he knew he couldn't. Not them both. Not to her. Not today.

In the aftermath of the battle, everything had happened so quickly. Dumbledore had appeared, and Harry had taken off, and Mad-Eye had called for his help – and that was when he'd known. He'd known before he'd seen her crumpled on the ground that it was bad – Mad-Eye wouldn't have had that paternal twinge in his voice for anyone else or anything less, and his heart, his body, his mind had frozen at the thought. He hadn't wanted to see – but he'd had to look, to help, to do whatever he could.

Everything between then and now was a blur. He thought he'd given orders, and people had obeyed – he'd hurried here with her in his arms, demanded that the healers listened to him as he told them which spells he thought she needed….

And now he was just waiting. Waiting for good news, or for bad, or for her tiny hand to warm up and give him some indication that somewhere deep inside she was fighting, that she knew he was here, that she wasn't going to give up, give in, leave him.

He closed his eyes, clutching her hand in his and raising it to his chin.

She must know – she must – that he couldn't take this.

Not now. Not her as well.

He dropped his head onto their twined hands, closed his eyes, and listened intently to the sound of her breathing, because there was nothing else he could do.

There was a gasp behind him, and Remus started.

He turned in his chair to find an oddly familiar, yet utterly strange, pale oval face and dark eyes staring at the bed, horrified, and he knew instantly that this was Andromeda, because even though she had a haughty expression he never thought he'd see Tonks wear, the similarity in their features was striking. Beside her stood a man, a few inches shorter, who had a fraught, but kind, expression, and far too much dark hair.

Remus never did find out whether the gasp was for the sight of their daughter lying unconscious in a hospital bed, or for the fact that someone they didn't know was sitting at her bedside, clutching her hand in his.

The chair legs scraped across the floor as he reluctantly stood, nodding with a politeness he didn't really feel to both of them.

"How is she?"

"What happened?"

They both spoke at once, anguish written into every syllable they uttered.

Remus shook his head. He didn't know what to say. He was sure the welcome witch must have told them what to expect, or someone must have given them details when they were Flooed, but still, they deserved an answer. "She's breathing but she hasn't moved," he said. "The healers think all she needs is time."

"What happened?" Andromeda said.

It was the last question he wanted to answer. "She fell," he said, and as the word left his lips his face crumpled at the same time as his insides heaved. He raised his fingers to his face and pressed them, hard, into his mouth to try and contain the feeling. "She got hit with a spell, and she fell."

Saying the words again didn't do anything to alleviate the problem. But it wasn't the time. Him falling apart wasn't helping. It wasn't what she needed – not what _they_ needed.

He gave himself a quick mental shake, and cleared his throat. "She hit her head."

He closed his eyes as the images flooded back, trying desperately not to give in to the urge to fall to the floor and stay there indefinitely.

"What have they said?" Andromeda said, pressing closer to the bed. "Do they think she'll – "

She let whatever words she was going to finish the sentence with hang in the air between them, her eyes desperately searching Tonks' pale face. "They couldn't offer any guarantees," Remus said. "But they were cautiously optimistic. Mad-Eye – Alastor – Moody gave her first aid at the scene and we got her here quickly – they seemed to think that would help."

Relief washed over Andromeda's face, and Ted touched her lightly on the elbow, Conjuring her a seat on the other side of the bed and indicating that she should sit.

But sitting seemed the last thing on Andromeda's mind, and she started bustling about the bed, saying that the sheets weren't a good enough quality and that how could anybody be expected to make a recovery surrounded by such inferior linen? She transfigured them deftly into something softer and more homely looking, and then turned her attention to the bedside cabinet.

She quickly Conjured a vase of impeccably arranged, multi-coloured gerberas and placed them on the small cupboard, jabbing the stems with her wand until she was utterly satisfied with their arrangement, and then re-tucked Tonks' covers, pulling them up to her chin and folding the ends of the sheet in neatly.

Only then did she give the bed a faint nod of approval, and sink into the yellow and orange deckchair Ted had Conjured for her.

Remus raised a questioning eyebrow at Ted, vaguely gesturing to the chair close to the bed which he had Conjured for himself. Ted shook his head, Conjuring an identical deckchair next to Andromeda's and sinking into it, scrabbling for his wife's hand on the arm rest. "She'll be fine," he said, with a conviction Remus was sure he didn't feel. "Constitution like an ox."

Andromeda nodded, smiling slightly, and then she closed her eyes, dropped her chin and shook her head in what he would have assumed under any other circumstance was weariness. "I knew something like this would happen. We never should have let her – "

"As if we could have stopped her."

Andromeda let out a soft breath of hollow amusement, and then she surveyed the room, her eyes fixing on Remus as if she'd only just realised he was there. He swallowed – he didn't know what – if anything – Tonks had told her parents about him, them. He supposed he should have asked her about it when he'd had the chance.

Now he came to think about it, there was so much he still didn't know about her, so many questions he wanted to ask. Why were sunflowers her favourites? Was pink her favourite colour – is that why she chose it so often for her hair?

"Forgive my rudeness," Andromeda said. "I don't believe we've met."

"I'm Remus," he said, extending his hand across the bed. "Remus Lupin."

Andromeda took his hand briefly, and then he turned to Ted, who clasped his hand rather more enthusiastically and introduced them both, rather unnecessarily. Their elopement had been quite scandalous and Sirius – he closed his eyes as thinking his name stabbed him in the chest – had taken great pleasure in showing them all the scrappy wizarding photos of the happy event and proclaiming how over the moon he was to be related to such a woman. He resisted a bitter laugh at the thought that they were probably almost as notorious as he was.

Andromeda's eyes swept him, taking in the details, and if she registered the name, it didn't show on her face. "Are you a colleague?" she said. "Someone from the Ministry..?"

"No. She's – "

_Everything to me_.

The words made his insides feel on the brink of collapse. Remus swallowed, balling his fists tightly at his sides to steel himself. "Nymphadora is a very dear friend."

"She must be, if she lets you get away with calling her Nymphadora," Ted said, and Remus smiled at him faintly across the bed.

"I wouldn't say she lets me get away with it," he said, his eyes darting back to Tonks' unmoving face.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ted smile in faint realisation and understanding, but he kept his eyes on Tonks' face, willing her features to move, her eyebrow to raise in some kind of derision for his worry, her lips to curve into that familiar smile that never failed to light up his insides.

He felt the overwhelming urge to do something. "I should – erm – " He stalled, and Ted met his eye questioningly. "I mean – I'll go and get her healer for you. You'll want to talk to him yourselves."

Ted smiled. "He's on his way, they said," he said.

"Oh." Remus swallowed. "I could fetch you both a cup of tea? I'm sure they're still open…."

Andromeda shook her head, a gesture that Ted echoed. "Sit down," he said, gently. "I'm sure she'll want you here when she wakes up – if only so she can tell you off for calling her Nymphadora."

Remus did as he was told and sank back into his chair, reaching for Tonks' hand without giving it any thought. He cradled it in his, stroking her thumb gently, and not caring whether her parents thought it strange for him to do it or wished he wouldn't.

They were quiet for a moment, and then Andromeda's pale face turned to him. "Who was it?" she said quietly. She cast a furtive glance around the ward, but its three other occupants were in various states of unconsciousness too and it was far too late – or early, he couldn't really work out which – for scheduled visiting hours. "Death Eaters?" she whispered.

Remus nodded. He leaned forward, resting his elbow on the bed, and pressing the fingers that weren't entwined with Tonks' into his mouth. "She was very brave," he said, annoyed with himself for letting his voice crack. He rubbed at his jaw distractedly, and squeezed her hand a little, taking as much comfort in its presence in his as he was trying to offer. "Too brave."

"Who..?"

Remus met Andromeda's eye, wondering if she really wanted to know. Her expression was imploring, and there was something in her eyes that said she was just waiting for him to confirm her worst suspicions. He pressed his lips together for a moment in consideration, remembering all too clearly how news of this kind of betrayal felt. "Bellatrix," he said, his voice little more than a hush.

Andromeda blanched, and at her side, Ted stiffened in his seat, his fingers tightening on his wife's wrist. She leant back in her chair, pressing her immaculate oval fingernails into the crease between her eyebrows. She rubbed her forehead for a moment, her jaw shifting from side to side with anger, or indignation, or disbelief – he couldn't tell which. He thought, perhaps, it was a mixture of all three. "Her own niece," she said, her voice almost a hiss of disgust. "Did you catch her?"

Remus shook his head, glancing down at the expressionless face on the pillow in front of him. " We will."

Andromeda nodded and leant forward, pulling the sheets a little higher, smoothing them out over Tonks' shoulder. Silence seemed to envelop them like a slow, creeping mist, and they all let it take them. There really wasn't anything to say. This wasn't the time for pleasant – or otherwise – conversation with the Tonkses about who he was and why he was holding their daughter's hand – how long things had been this way or what his intentions were – all the things he'd idly thought might be involved in meeting them. And it wasn't the time for chit chat about the weather, the headlines in _The Daily Prophet_, the latest Quidditch scores.

And so they just sat, and waited.

Remus held Tonks' cold hand in his, wondering when it would feel warm again, responsive to his touch. He'd never realised how much he would miss the simple curl of her fingers around his.

He tried to focus on the image of her sitting up and laughing at him for being such an old worry wart, but every time he started to picture it, it faded. He'd have to tell her. He'd have to tell her what had happened to Sirius, and he knew that when she woke up there'd be relief, but not laughter.

As he sat, running his fingers over hers, his mind wandered. He thought of the last evening they'd all spent together, with Tonks curled up at his side, his arm around her shoulders, and Sirius gently mocking them with a gleam of approval in his eye that well and truly gave the game of his words away. It didn't seem entirely real that so much could have changed in so little time – that Sirius was gone, and Tonks was lying unconscious in a hospital bed, when mere hours ago they'd been chatting and making fun of each other.

He wondered what was happening at Grimmauld – whether a meeting had been called to notify everyone of what had happened – and at Hogwarts – how the children were. His heart gave a painful tug on his insides as he thought of Harry, hell-bent on rescuing Sirius, and how he must be feeling.

He had no idea what would happen next.

He squeezed Tonks' fingers. The only thing he could really be certain of was that the Veil had taken Sirius, and there was nothing he could do about it, but if he had anything to do with it, it wasn't having Tonks. Not today.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. As this whole out and out angst thing is a bit of a departure for me, I'm especially keen to see what you all think of this latest instalment – so I'm offering a Remus to tuck you in and feed you grapes to anyone who reviews ;). **


	3. Over and Above

That day at the hospital had been the longest of his life, Remus thought. Trapped in his own thoughts, his grief for Sirius and concern for Tonks, each second had taken an ice age to pass. He'd had nothing but the frantic, racing beat of his heart, which clamoured with every pound for her to wake up, for company.

The feeling of her fingers twitching in his had been the greatest sensation he'd ever experienced, and in spite of everything, his mind and body had rallied to a sense of jubilation when the sheets had rustled as she stirred.

It had been his name she'd said first – which had been the cause of a couple of glances across the bed of immense surprise from Ted and Andromeda – but he'd barely registered them as he scrutinised Tonks' face for any sign of how she felt, for the first flicker that she'd really be Ok.

Andromeda had immediately leapt into action, fluffing pillows, Conjuring glasses of water, complaining about the lighting when Tonks squinted against it –

Ted had just calmly put his hand on Tonks' knee, and told her they were both there, to take her time waking up, making a joke about her giving them quite a scare – although the crack in his voice belied his jolly tone, a little.

For his part, Remus had just squeezed her hand and hoped she could feel it, because any words he might have thought to utter would never have made it passed the lump in his throat.

She'd sat up – against his advice as well as her mother's – clutching her chest, and then rubbing her arm, blinking furiously as she assessed herself, and all the while Andromeda fussed and Ted smiled encouragingly, Tonks' eyes fixed on his, asking questions that he knew he couldn't answer with a glance.

After a couple of minutes, Ted had taken the hint, and shooed Andromeda out of the room, saying that they could both do with a cuppa, and that Remus obviously needed a moment alone with her –

He'd been achingly grateful, and yet at the same time filled with dread, because he wasn't even sure how to say what he needed to. But even though they were the very last words he wanted to say out loud, he'd told her that Sirius was gone – who, and how, if not why.

She hadn't taken the news well.

Not that he was sure he'd expected her to, because it wasn't really the kind of news anyone took well.

He'd expected and been prepared for sadness – confusion, even, or denial – but at the name Bellatrix her eyes had flared with nothing short of hurt and rage, and she'd thrown back the covers and tried to get up, swearing she'd kill her –

He'd held her back, like he had Harry, and she'd fought, trying to push him away, scrabbling against his jumper, trying to force him to let go – but he wasn't about to let her go off and do something foolish and get herself killed, as she surely would when she could barely stand and only her anger kept her upright.

She hadn't been in the mood to listen to rational arguments or even reason, and so in the end he'd taken her by the arms and shaken her and told her that he couldn't bear to lose her too, and if anyone should be out for vengeance it was him because Bellatrix had nearly taken both of the people who meant most to him in one day.

And then Tonks had just crumpled against him, and they'd slumped to the floor, and all he'd been able to do was wrap his arms around her and cling to her. Neither of them had cared that it was awkward and painful to sit like that, and he'd listened as she'd let out a dry sob, resisting the urge to tell her that everything was OK because it really wasn't.

She'd felt very small in his arms, and it had shocked him a little to think that, because she was always so strong and feisty and full of life; he'd never thought of her as fragile before, as someone he might actually lose.

Eventually he'd managed to get her back in bed, and when Ted and Andromeda had come back dragging a frantic-looking healer in their wake, she'd made a decent show of pretending she was fine – decent enough that the healer told jokes about having her back on her feet in no time so she could trip over nothing and put herself back in here.

No lasting damage, he'd said.

Remus had marvelled a little at the irony.

Tonks' parents had stayed for a while, offering her tea as if it were the elixir of life, and fluffing her pillows as if her recovery depended on it, but eventually they'd gone home, vowing to come back later with magazines and some pyjamas, telling her to get someone to Floo them if she thought of anything she needed and to try and get some rest.

She'd told Remus that she'd be fine if he wanted to go home and sleep – saying that he looked worn out and pushing his hair out of his eyes with concern – but he couldn't bear to leave, and he wasn't sure she wanted him to anyway.

He sat next to her on the bed – even though there was a curt note above telling him not to – and she curled her feet underneath her, rustling the crisp hospital sheets. He wondered what to say to her, but couldn't think of anything that wouldn't be jarringly jovial or morbidly depressing, and so he just stared absently at the gerberas in the vase next to the bed, as if they would provide him with answers.

He felt Tonks move next to him, and place her head on his shoulder, and instinctively draped his arm around her, allowing her to nestle on his collarbone. She looked up at him through her hair, and gave him a weak smile.

"This is how it'll be, isn't it?" she said.

For a moment, he wondered if she was talking about them – but as soon as the thought flitted through his mind, he dismissed it because it made little sense. "What?" he said quietly, shifting a little to look at her.

Tonks swallowed, balling the sheet in her hands as if to steel herself for something, although he didn't know what. "I don't remember the first war very well," she said quietly, her eyes focused on her clenched fingers. "I knew people made sacrifices," she continued, her voice a little strained, "read the statistics, heard the stories. I knew loads of people died – I just never thought it was people like Sirius."

Remus pulled her a little closer, although whether it was for her benefit of his he wasn't certain.

He wanted to tell her it would all be OK – that they and the people they cared about would be all right, but he knew it would be a blatant lie. After all, he was living proof of just how much some people would have to lose in the name of what was right.

"It's all my fault," she said abruptly, and he started, turning to look at her.

"What?"

"If I'd finished Bellatrix –"

"No," he said softly. "I won't let you play this game."

"What game?" she said, looking at him rather petulantly.

"Blaming yourself for what happened."

"But it's true," she said. "I'm supposed to be an Auror –"

"Tonks," he said, firmly, moving his hand down her back so he could turn to look at her properly. "You were extraordinarily brave. No witch or wizard, Auror or otherwise, could have done more."

Her chin trembled, and she looked away. "I didn't – he's still gone," she said, staring resolutely at her lap, where the glittering gold letters of the words 'property of St Mungo's' distorted beneath her grip. He closed his eyes briefly and then shifted so he could take her face in his hand and tilt it up towards his.

"You nearly gave your _life_," he said. "That's more than anyone could ask."

"I should've –"

"No," he said softly, pulling her back onto his shoulder. "There's nothing you should've done."

He rested his cheek on her hair, and after a while she took his free hand in both of hers and squeezed it.

"When Lily and James died," he said, and felt her shift against him slightly, drawing her legs closer so that her knees rested against his thigh, "I spent years wasting away brooding over all the things I should have done. I should have been there that night – I should have known something was going to happen – I should have guessed Peter was the spy."

"But you couldn't have known," she said.

"No," he said, letting his fingers wander up over her back. She nestled closer, her nose in the crook of his neck, and he toyed with the ends of her hair, letting it slip through his fingers. "I couldn't have known. Just as you couldn't have known what Bellatrix was going to do, or that we'd all end up duelling around that veil. For my part, I shall always blame myself for not hexing Sirius to make him stay behind, and I'm sure Harry will be blaming himself for going to The Department of Mysteries in the first place. It's no one's fault."

He continued stroking her hair lightly with the tips of his fingers while they both stared at the wall opposite. Tonks sighed. "You'll miss him," she said.

"I already do," he replied quietly. "More than I can say."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading. I know it's been a while…. I plan to have the next chapter up pretty swiftly, though, and it is a bit more, well, chipper ;). Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and anyone reviewing this one gets some quality hand-holding with a werewolf of their choice. Oh, and I'm sure you've all seen it, but there's an outtake for this story called Comfort Food. If you haven't seen it and you fancy it, link's in my profile ;) **


	4. Getting Over It

Remus didn't know how long he'd been awake, watching her sleep. Hours, he thought, probably – it certainly seemed like it had been a while since the sun had peeked through the thin curtains in Chudley Canons colours and woken him.

They'd been staying at The Burrow since Tonks had been discharged from St Mungo's – Tonks had insisted that she'd be fine at her own flat, but Molly had insisted more vociferously that she needed somewhere to properly recuperate, and Tonks really hadn't had the strength to argue, he didn't think.

With Grimmauld Place off limits until the matter of Sirius' will had been sorted out, Remus had been staying at the Burrow too, and he thought Molly liked having guests to fuss over to take her mind off what had happened to her own children at the Ministry, and what could have.

He and Tonks had separate rooms, of course – she was in Charlie's, and he in Bill's – but that hadn't kept them apart. Every night, he'd made a big show of going into Bill's room, but after a moment's wait and a Silencing Charm, he'd Apparated to Tonks', and they'd spent hours curled up together on Charlie's single bed, under the watchful gaze of his dragon posters, who seemed quite pleased to have someone new to show off for.

They hadn't talked about it, much – she felt guilty, he told her not to, and mostly they just enjoyed the comfort of each other's arms.

The sun cast dappled light on her face through the curtains, making her hair glisten and her face almost glow in places, and he thought he could look at her like that forever. And maybe it was gratitude that he still had her to look at, or something else he didn't quite want to put a name to, but he couldn't take his eyes off her in moments like this, and he tightened his grip on her just slightly.

She was doing all right, he thought, physically. She was tired more easily than usual, and sore, and had been forced to eat more chicken soup than most witches ate in a lifetime in the space of a few days, but all things considered, he thought she was doing all right, and it didn't seem fair, with everything that had happened, to wish for more than that.

Being at The Burrow helped, he thought; it certainly had him. Life went on here regardless, because it had to. There was little time for wallowing in grief and guilt, but he knew that Molly knew – he could see it in her eyes when she looked at him – what he'd lost and how he felt, and the extra helpings of dinner she heaped upon him though he really wasn't hungry seemed tinged with extra concern and understanding these days.

In a way it helped, too, that he had Tonks to think about, to be concerned for. It was a way of taking his mind off Sirius, though it never wandered very far.

His heart fluttered as Tonks stirred next to him, and he thought that much as he liked watching her sleep, he _loved_ watching her wake up. It used to be that his heart fluttered as she woke because she'd once told him that she never felt properly awake until he kissed her, and he'd taken that as an invitation to kiss her awake at every opportunity, but now the flutter was more to do with the fact that the painful thought about what it would be like if she never woke up again was still fresh in his mind.

He shifted down on the pillow so he could meet her eyes as they opened, and his fingers dallied entirely of their own accord on her shoulder. Her eyelids flickered, and he pressed his lips to her forehead, just because he couldn't resist it. She let out a low, sleepy murmur, her hand finding his waist under the duvet and pulling him closer. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, scuffing her cheek with his thumb, and she opened her eyes and smiled at him faintly, which she'd done every morning, even when he'd stayed with her at the hospital. It was a smile that said she was pleased to see him, even though she wasn't quite sure she was happy to be awake.

It was a feeling he knew all too well; he'd had it for years.

After James and Lily had died, sometimes he'd wanted to sleep forever, to retreat into a world of dreams where the bad things that had happened hadn't happened at all, where he didn't have to face life alone, and scared, and often he'd wondered if there was spell….

But he never would have used it, as he wouldn't now, because it wouldn't have done justice to the people he'd lost to dream away their existence, their sacrifice. The cliché that tears are the price you pay for love nipped a little too hard at his conscience for him ever to truly relish a moment of blissful forgetfulness.

"How are you feeling?" he whispered, and she shifted, her hand crawling protectively to her chest where the spell had hit her.

"Fine," she murmured. It was what she'd been saying ever since the hospital, like a routine, a rote answer, as if she believed if she said it often enough, one day it'd be true. Which, he supposed, it would be.

"_Really_," he said, ducking down a little to better meet her eye. "How are feeling really?"

She closed her eyes for a moment, and then let out a resigned sigh, rolling onto her back and rubbing her shoulder gingerly with her fingertips. "Bit sore," she mumbled, pressing her lips together, and looking away, tracing the flight of a dragon on a poster on the ceiling across some mountains in Eastern Europe.

"Let me see," he said softly. He propped himself up on one elbow and eased the neck of her pyjama shirt over to one side, exposing the impressive bruise from the spell and tracing it down. "Looks better," he said. "I think that bruise balm they gave you is working. It's not nearly as black as it was yesterday – more of a nice purple-y green colour."

She smiled faintly, and then closed her eyes again, as if she was debating something, as if she wondered how to respond, whether to be jovial or serious. And he knew the next move was his, because that was how it worked; the person who'd lost the most set the tone. "You could morph hair to match," he said, "I'm sure that'd be very fetching."

She let out a brief, if rather strangled, huff of amusement, and for a second he wondered if he shouldn't have joked, if he'd miss-read the situation – but they'd spent so long curled up together, lost in their own melancholy thoughts, thinking about Sirius, and the children, what they'd been through, all the repercussions – how close _she'd _come to going away – how close he'd come to losing her…. And he was sick of it. His chest still felt heavy for a lot of different reasons, but they couldn't go on forever, worrying, and feeling sad and guilty and not talking like they used to in case the other thought it was inappropriate or got upset.

She rolled towards him, meeting his eye. "You know," she said, her eyes darting down to the neck of her pyjama top, where his fingers still lingered, "if you want to look at my boobs, you're allowed to. You don't have to pretend to be concerned about my welfare."

She grinned at him, and although it was a touch forced, and her amusement didn't quite reach as far as her eyes, he smiled. It was nice that she was trying, nicer still that he _hadn't_ misread her, that she felt what he did. "Is that so?" he said.

"Boyfriend privilege," she said, her fingers resting on his arm, her smile this time a little closer to the real thing. "If you ask nicely, I might even let you rub my bruise balm on."

He chuckled, feeling a weight in his chest lift a little, and she sniggered too, and for a moment it was if they had a chance, a wonderful chance to move on, to actually cope with the crappy cards they'd been dealt and come out not with a winning hand, but not a losing one, either.

Things weren't ideal, and he knew that – for one thing, they were both squashed into Charlie Weasley's single bed and surrounded by pictures of beady-eyed dragons – but for now he thought that together and not ideal was enough, and they'd sort everything else out later.

And so, to make the most of it, he eased her closer and kissed her.

She took a breath against his lips as if for all her flirting moments ago she was surprised at his actions, and then kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him tightly to her, making him feel as if he wasn't the only one who'd been thinking about what he _could_ have lost, as well as what he had.

* * *

When Remus headed downstairs to put the kettle on so there'd be tea for Tonks when she finished in the shower, he found the Weasley kitchen suspiciously quiet, except for Molly at the sink, seeing to the breakfast things, and Ron at the table, staring intently at a piece of parchment.

"Morning," he said softly, not wanting to startle Ron, but doing it anyway. Ron started, then looked up.

"Professor," he said, with a brief, would-be nonchalant nod, as if his teachers regularly strolled down for breakfast.

"I haven't been your teacher for a long time, Ron," Remus said. "You're free to call me something else, I'm not bothered what."

Remus offered him a reassuring smile, and Ron returned it, looking a little more at ease, and then went back to scowling at the parchment on the table in front of him.

Molly dried her hands on her apron, and beamed at him. "Remus, dear," she said. "I was just about to bring you up a cup of tea. Done you good to have a bit of a lie-in, I expect."

He smiled by way of reply and went over to join her at the window, looking out on the day, which, from where he was standing, seemed gloriously sunny. "Toast?" Molly said. "Porridge? I think there's some bacon left, assuming Fred and George didn't finish it all last night – "

"Thank you, but I might just have some tea, for now," Remus said, "if you don't mind me putting the kettle on?"

Molly raised an eyebrow at him in admonishment for even suggesting that he'd make it himself, and as she turned to flick her wand at a small stack of dishes and send them spinning to the cupboard, he turned his attention to the garden, watching two blue tits fighting over the best position in the bird bath. He suspected he wasn't going to get away with just a cup of tea for breakfast, either, and that as soon as Tonks appeared they'd have bacon sandwiches, toast and jam and possibly even kippers to choose from, in spite of the fact that yesterday Molly had force-fed them both more food than he expected either of them normally ate in a week.

The kettle sprang into life, and then Molly Summoned the teapot and cast a warming charm on it. Her eyes darted to Ron, and, finding him absorbed in what he was reading, she leant in. "Have you seen Tonks yet?" she said quietly, and he nodded.

"She'll be down in a minute, I expect."

"How did she seem?"

"She'll be fine, Molly," he said, dropping his hands into his pockets and glancing out of the window, where the victorious blue tit was fluffing out its chest. "She's a lot tougher than she looks."

"I know, but – she was so quiet last night at dinner. I'm worried she's – well, she doesn't seem to have a lot of people – friends, you know, her own age, to talk to. And grief – "

"I've talked to her," Remus said quietly, meeting her eye. "After all, it's an area I have some expertise in."

He'd meant it as an offhand joke, of sorts, but Molly's eyes clouded with concern and she clasped her hand over his elbow. He wished he hadn't said it, because he longed, more than anything, to be the kind of person who was a complete novice when it came to grief. "It's a lot for you to cope with," she said, squeezing his arm a little, and for a moment he felt a lump form in his throat.

He swallowed it. "We're – both of us – fine," he said, and though he tried his best to be convincing, Molly's concerned expression didn't waver, and he suspected that she saw through his 'fine' as clearly as he saw through Tonks'. "It's such a lovely day I was thinking I'd ask Tonks if she fancied a walk later," he said. "Clear the cobwebs a bit. I'll talk to her again then."

Molly smiled and pointed her wand at the tea caddy, causing four tea bags to jump from it into the waiting teapot, to be joined seconds later by boiled water. With another flick of her wand, cups, a sugar bowl and milk jug settled on the table, and she ushered Remus to a seat. "I'll just take this up to her," she said, pouring a cup for Tonks and adding an extra lump of sugar.

Remus sat down at the table, stirring his tea idly. "Mum made rock cakes," Ron said. "They're in the cupboard, if you want one. I mean she'll probably force a full English on you in a minute, but if you're hungry…."

Remus chuckled quietly to himself, the knot in his chest loosening a little in the face of Ron's wryness. "I think I can wait," he said.

Ron nodded and glanced down at the parchment in front of him, chewing the end of his sugar quill and grimacing. "What are you doing?" Remus asked, thinking it was a bit early for anyone – especially Ron – to be doing anything school-related.

Ron looked up, the quill still gripped between his teeth. "Writing to Harry," he said. "I thought it might cheer him up – only I don't know what to say."

Ron frowned and scratched at his head in irritation, and Remus hummed in thought, grateful for the distraction. "Well," he said, "two heads are better than one. Why don't you read me what you've got so far and I'll see if I can help? Unless it's personal, of course."

Ron frowned for a moment, toying with the edge of his parchment, and then nodded and cleared his throat. He squared the parchment in front of him. "_Dear Harry_," he read, and then looked up, meeting Remus' eye. Remus gestured for him to go on, smiling in encouragement, but Ron swallowed. "That's it," he said. "That's all I've got. And I'm not even sure about the 'dear'."

"I can see you're still to break the back of it," Remus said, stifling a small chuckle.

"I'm no good at this kind of thing," Ron said, dropping his elbow onto the table and propping his head up glumly, glowering at the parchment. "Maybe I should leave it to Hermione. She'd know what to say."

Remus set his cup back on the table and leant forward. "I'm sure we can come up with something," he said.

"Yeah but what?" Ron said, meeting his eye. " 'Sorry Sirius is dead'? That's it? Four words? It hardly seems enough, does it?"

A second passed, and then Ron sat bolt upright, his eyes widening in horror at what he'd said. "Sorry," he said, studying the table. "I didn't think." His fingers tightened on his sugar quill, turning almost white – and Remus was quite surprised it didn't break. "Why am I so bloody thick?" he muttered, rolling his eyes at himself.

Remus smiled at him in understanding, because really he felt exactly the same. Two words – 'Sirius died' – hardly seemed enough to justify the raft of things he was feeling, the immense repercussions, the effect it would have on Harry, and yet that was what had happened. It wasn't right that it could be described in two words, and yet it could. "No apologies necessary, Ron," Remus said quietly.

"Yeah but – "

"No 'but's either. I know what you meant," he said. "And you're right – it's not enough. But I'm sure Harry will be grateful for whatever you write – four words or four thousand, even if it's nonsense about Quidditch or an in-depth weather report."

Ron's eyes brightened a little, although there was still concern in his expression, as though he couldn't quite believe it would be that easy. "You think?" he said tentatively.

"Yes," Remus said. He leant back in his chair a little, reaching for his tea and cradling his cup in his hand. "When someone you love dies, people do rather tend to avoid you as much as they can because they don't know what to say. He'll appreciate the thought."

Ron chewed his tongue thoughtfully for a moment and then nodded and bent low over the parchment, scribbling away furiously, pausing occasionally to glance up at the ceiling in thought, just as he had in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

"Done," Ron said eventually, and Remus looked up from the fresh cup of tea he'd been pouring and smiled at him. "Can I read it to you? See if it's all right?" he said.

"Of course."

Remus set the teapot down and reached for his cup, and Ron shifted in his seat and cleared his throat, lifting the parchment up in front of him as if he were making a speech to the entire Ministry, and not a shabby former professor.

"_Dear Harry_," Ron read. He paused for a moment, and then swallowed, his ears reddening slightly. "_I don't really know what to say to you because no-one I loved has ever died. Been lucky, I suppose. Mum's fussing over everyone as usual (did you know Tonks and Lupin are staying here?), and Dad's rushed off his feet at work, but they've both said that you can come and stay if Dumbledore agrees, and I suppose that'll be better than staying with the Durselys, even if you're not really in the mood to have fun. I hope they're not being too bad, anyway. I'm really sorry Sirius is dead. We're all going to miss him, but no-one more than you, I suppose. Take care, mate, and I'll see you soon._"

Ron dropped the parchment back onto the table and fidgeted with one corner, before looking up and meeting Remus' eye, his brow furrowed. "Well?" he said, warily.

"I think it's perfect."

Ron grinned, and then rolled the parchment into a tight scroll and whistled to Pigwidgeon. Remus reached for his teacup as a preventative measure as the bird barrelled onto the table and upset the sugar bowl in its enthusiasm for the task, and Ron tutted loudly and muttered something like 'stupid feathery idiot' before attaching the scroll to his leg. With difficulty he scooped Pigwidgeon up and took him to the window, the owl flapping its wings against his hands and hooting excitedly, and then released him. They both watched as Pigwidgeon set off on a lilting path over the garden, weighed down on one side by the weight of the scroll tied to his leg.

Ron sighed and shook his head as he watched, and then returned to the table, pulling his cup of tea towards him. "Do you think Harry'll be all right?" he said.

"I think with friends like you and Hermione around he stands a very good chance," Remus said, and Ron grinned sheepishly.

"What about Tonks?" he asked, his eyes darting cautiously between Remus' and where he and Molly had been standing talking earlier. "Mum's really worried about her."

"I know," Remus said. "But Tonks just needs time. She blames herself, and it'll just take a while for that to go away."

Ron frowned in confusion, and absentmindedly picked at a round, sucker-shaped scab on his arm. "Blames herself for what?" he said.

"For Sirius dying."

"Oh."

The room was quiet for a moment, and Remus noticed that Arthur's spoon on the clock in the kitchen was hovering between Work and Mortal Peril. He wondered how many clocks like that – or similar artefacts, since he was almost certain Arthur had made that himself – existed in their world, and how many hands were pointing to Mortal Peril these days. If he'd had one, his hand would be squarely pointed in that direction, he thought, but then he'd been on Death Eater hit lists since he was eighteen, and he appeared to still be standing.

"That's daft," Ron said, jerking Remus out of his thoughts. "There were loads of people there – you, Moody, Kingsley _and_ Dumbledore. If none of you could have saved him, why does she think she could've? I mean she's good, but…. Well, it's mental, isn't it?"

Remus hid a smile behind a sip of his tea. Ron could always be relied upon to get to the heart of the matter. "I think, sometimes," he said, choosing his words carefully, "that it's easier to deal with something like guilt than grief. While she's busy blaming herself she doesn't have to really come to terms with the idea that Sirius is truly gone."

"Oh," Ron said.

"I'll talk to her again," Remus said. "She'll be all right."

The sound of footsteps approaching stalled any further questions on the subject, and Tonks appeared in the doorframe with a, "Wotcher," that was a little more tentative than usual, while Molly bustled in behind her, asking if she was sure she just wanted toast and not something more fortifying, that there was more chicken soup if she only wanted something light. Remus met her eye and smiled, pulling out a chair for her and gesturing to the teapot.

"It's still warm," he said.

Tonks shook her head and sank down into the chair. "I'm all right, thanks," she said, knocking her knee against his under the table, and meeting his eye with a coy, knowing smile.

"Toast for you too, Remus?"

"Thank you, Molly," he replied. "That would be lovely."

Molly bustled about the kitchen, providing them with a veritable stack of toast each and a selection of homemade jams and marmalades, as well as honey and a couple of spreadable substances Remus was quite sure he'd never seen before. "Molly says you fancy a walk?" Tonks said, as she spooned a small helping of raspberry jam onto one of her slices and spread it with the back of her spoon.

"I thought it might do us both good to get some fresh air," he said.

"Fancy taking these outside, then?" she said, gesturing to their plates. She looked up and met Molly's eye. "We must've been in the way the last few days," she said. "I thought we'd get out of your hair for a while."

"Nonsense – you're not in the way, dear, we're glad to have you," Molly said, shooting a glance at Ron, who quickly complied with a nod and a grin. "But Remus is right. A spot of fresh air might do you both some good."

They exchanged a questioning glance and a nod of mutual agreement, and then got to their feet, gathered their toast, and headed out into the sunshine.

It was a glorious day, and they walked as far as the orchard, and settled down in the shade of the trees. They'd already eaten a couple of pieces of toast each – Tonks nibbling off the crusts first before the rest, but they chewed thoughtfully, and watched a couple of sparrows come and land just in front of them, ferret in the grass for crumbs. "Molly's worried about you," Tonks said.

"Ron's worried about you," he returned, and she smiled.

"I suppose that makes us even, then," she said. "One Weasley each."

Remus glanced down at the grass before meeting her eye, wondering if he should say anything at all. "I'm worried about you too," he said quietly. Tonks rolled her eyes.

"I'm fine, Remus," she said, and when he opened his mouth to argue, she continued. "Well, not _fine_, obviously, because given what's happened, that'd just be, well, rude and unfeeling, wouldn't it? But I'm not – " She let out a frustrated sigh. "I'm not a doll – I'm not fragile. People in my line of work get hurt, it's just a fact and I knew it when I signed up. And yes, I wish I'd killed her and Sirius wasn't – " She swallowed. " – gone – and if I ever see her again, I _will_ bloody kill her – but – well, everyone fussing and walking on eggshells round me, it's just drawing attention and making me feel worse, you know?"

She met his eye, flinching a little into a grimace as she did so, and he shifted closer on the grass, lightly touching her arm. "Ok," he said. She smiled faintly, and then when he rubbed her arm and shifted closer still, it broadened a little before failing entirely.

"I don't want you to feel like you can't be upset about Sirius because you're scared that you being upset'll make me feel guilty," she said.

Remus shuffled closer on the grass, letting his hand fall down her back and rest at the base of her spine, his side against her arm. "I don't," he murmured, and she nestled closer.

"Really?"

He met her eye and let out a sigh of amusement, smiling at her until she did, too.

It was the truth – it hadn't occurred to him, if he was honest, that him being ostensibly upset would have that kind of effect on her, although he could see why she might think that. He wondered if he should tell her that he hadn't been holding things in for her sake so much as his own. "Thank you for this morning," she said, meeting his eye shyly.

"I assure you it was entirely my pleasure," he said, bending down to drop a kiss onto her shoulder through a chuckle.

"Well not only yours," she said, chuckling and nudging him in reprimand with her shoulder. "I mean it, though. I just want to get back to how things were – I mean not completely, because they won't be, but – "

"I know what you mean."

She glanced up at him and offered him a brief smile of gratitude, before studying the grass beside his knee. "Can I ask you something?" she said, dropping her hand onto his thigh and toying with a loose thread on his trousers.

"Of course."

"And you'll be honest?" she said.

"Naturally," he said, "unless, that is, I feel a lie is utterly justified."

She laughed and bumped his shoulder with hers. "Never a straight answer," she muttered.

"Go on," he said, smiling. "Ask your question."

Tonks pressed her lips together in thought and looked away through the trees, over the fields. "Do you think we'll win?" she said softly.

"Yes," he said, and she turned to face him.

"Why?"

"Because we can't not," he said. He paused for a moment, and then, seeing a flicker of confusion in her eyes, he went on. "The consequences of us not winning are too dire – we'll win, because we have to, even if the odds seem impossibly stacked against us."

The corners of Tonks' lips twitched into the beginnings of a smile. "Sorry," he said. "That wasn't really a straight answer, was it?"

"No," she said. She shifted closer and dropped her head onto his shoulder. "But it was a good one. If we're going to win, then it's worth it, isn't it?"

He draped an arm around her and gave her a vague squeeze, resting his chin on her hair for a moment and just breathing her and the warm summer air in. "Of course I could be wrong," he said, voice lilting with amusement, and she let out a sigh of laughter. "It doesn't happen often, but it has been known…."

Tonks poked him admonishingly in the ribs and he squirmed away from her fingers before coming back to rest her against him. "You're such a git," she murmured. "Even when you're being nice."

"I know," he murmured back. "I've been lead to believe it's part of my charm."

* * *

**A/N: All kinds of gratitude to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. Anyone who reviews this one gets a toast-based picnic under the trees with a Remus and range of toppings of their choice ;). **


	5. Overshadowed

Dumbledore called for him to enter before Remus had even knocked on the door, and, with a small smile, he pushed it open and stepped into the sun-drenched room.

He couldn't deny that his heart had beaten a little faster every time he had set foot in Dumbledore's office, whether it had been as a frightened ten year old, waiting to hear whether or not he'd really be allowed the chance at a normal education, or as an adult, no less frightened, if he was honest, when he'd come here to tender his resignation. Dumbledore's good opinion had always been one of the things he treasured most, and the couple of occasions when he'd flirted with losing it still tugged painfully in his chest.

He'd received the message to stop by that morning, and Pigwidgeon had looked most disgruntled as the phoenix Patronus had materialised in the kitchen, as if he knew he was somehow out of a job with the arrival of a shimmering impostor. Remus had fed him a crust from his not inconsiderable pile of toast to try and appease him, although if owls could glower, that was certainly what he was doing as Remus took the message, crusts or not.

Disgruntled owls aside, Remus had enjoyed staying at the Burrow. The hustle and bustle of family life – arguments between Ginny and the twins, Molly's constant activity as if she could win the war single-handedly if she just baked enough, and Arthur's easy, if tired, these days, conversation, was soothing, in its own way, proof that life went on, domestic drudgery and pointless arguments and all. It was defiance, almost, he thought, of what had happened, what might happen in the future, just to carry on.

Tonks was feeling better. She'd gone back to work that morning, and had decided that it was time for her to move back into her own flat, too. She'd glanced at him significantly as she'd broken the news to Molly, and he'd wondered if she was hinting that he would be welcome to join her –

But then the Patronus had arrived, and she and Arthur had left for work to avoid the Floo rush, and –

Well, Remus wasn't sure he wanted to think about whether he had imagined the invitation in her eyes, just in case he had.

Dumbledore looked up from the pile of papers he was studying, smiled, and indicated that Remus should sit with a sweep of his hand. "I see you've made use of the trip to take a short detour to Honeyduke's," Dumbledore said, indicating the small paper bag Remus had set down on the desk in front of him as he sank into a chair.

Remus' couldn't resist the twitch of his lips in amusement at the way Dumbledore's gaze became instantly knowing. "Tell me," Dumbledore said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk, steepling his hands in front of him, "does Nymphadora favour strawberry sherbets or Fizzing Whizbees?"

Remus smiled. He wasn't sure he wanted to know how Dumbledore had guessed there was something between them, but he found he didn't really mind him knowing, either. "Strawberry sherbets," Remus said, glancing sheepishly at the bag in question and then shrugging with what would have been nonchalance, if he'd been remotely nonchalant about it.

"Nymphadora has excellent taste," Dumbledore said, his eyebrows dancing in amusement, and approval.

Remus suppressed the urge to blush. "It's her first day back at work," he said, avoiding Dumbledore's eyes. "I thought she might appreciate the gesture."

"No doubt she will," Dumbledore said. "Honeyduke's strawberry sherbets are amongst the finest in the wizarding world – although I, myself, prefer the lemon ones. Of course, if I could change my hair to match their colour, that may very well sway my decision."

Remus chuckled for a moment, thinking how odd it was to be discussing his girlfriend's favourite sweets with his former headmaster, the greatest wizard of their time. "And how is she?" Dumbledore said, his tone a little less jovial than it had been.

"Fine," Remus said, meeting Dumbledore's eye and offering him a half-smile. "Well, as well as can be expected. She – it's – well, it's been hard on her."

"Understandably."

"She blames herself, still," Remus said, quickly swallowing the slight lump that formed in his throat at the thought, "for what happened to Sirius."

Dumbledore's eyes dropped to the desk in front of him, a glimmer of real sadness in them, although whether it was for Tonks or Sirius, Remus couldn't tell. "As do we all," he said.

Remus nodded quickly, and then cleared his throat, because he was sure that whatever Dumbledore had asked him here for, it was unlikely to be a discussion about Tonks' favourite sweets, or even her welfare.

"And so to the matter at hand," Dumbledore said, meeting his eye once more. "I expect you have already deduced why you are here?"

"I'm assuming," Remus replied, "that you have a job for me to do."

"As usual, your assumption is correct," Dumbledore said, the corners of his mouth twitching just slightly. "I'll confess I find having no permanent Head Quarters in which to discuss such matters a rather great inconvenience, although – " He glanced at the papers on his desk briefly. " – I am hoping to rectify the situation presently."

Remus nodded, and when Dumbledore met his eye once more, Remus' heart sank. There was something in his gaze –

"Make no mistake in understanding," Dumbledore said slowly, his tone rather grave, "that what I am about to ask you to do is both dangerous and difficult. You should also make no mistake in understanding that if I did not believe this task to be vitally important in the fight against Voldemort, and you uniquely qualified to succeed at it, I would not be asking it of you."

The words 'uniquely qualified' made Remus' guts churn. He had no special powers, no special talents, no magical attributes that made him uniquely qualified for anything, save the one he wouldn't have wished on anybody.

He swallowed the nausea brewing in his chest.

"You have guessed, I suppose, what it is?" Dumbledore said gently.

"Werewolves," Remus said.

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied. "We talked, of course, about the rumours that a camp was amassing somewhere in the Borders?"

"Which we both hoped," Remus said, "were just that. Rumours."

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Alas," he said. "Last night I received intelligence that there is indeed such a camp, and that it is growing all the time. Just yesterday five new arrivals were recorded – one looked no older than thirteen."

Remus leant heavily on the arm of the chair, rubbing at his jaw with his fingertips. He murmured some kind of answer, some noise of disapproval or shock, when really his mind was whirling away thinking about what this would mean for him.

"I'm afraid the Ministry's policies have left many feeling that they have no place in the wizarding world," Dumbledore said, watching him carefully.

"I can imagine," Remus said.

"Moreover, I have heard rumblings that in addition to providing a place for the disenfranchised to stay, Greyback is recruiting for Voldemort."

Remus nodded solemnly. It was what they'd feared since they'd first heard the rumours, that Greyback would play on the werewolves' sense of injustice, their disgruntlement with their place in society, for his own ends. "No doubt promising that under Voldemort's rule, things would be different?"

"Indeed."

Remus paused for a moment. Though he knew it was foolish, a part of him didn't want to voice his thoughts, say out loud what he thought it was Dumbledore was asking him to do in case that wasn't it at all, that the thought hadn't even occurred.

But he knew it was a useless thought – he wasn't sure anyone had ever had an idea that hadn't occurred to the man in front of him first. "I expect," Remus said, tentative, in spite of the fact that he knew not voicing the idea was unlikely to make it go away, "that what you'd like me to do is spy on them?"

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "I would very much like to know how much headway Greyback has made, and, more importantly, perhaps, I would very much like you to try and convince those who follow him not to do so. You would need to be away for a few months at least, and, as I said, I expect it to be a most dangerous and difficult mission."

Remus shifted in his seat.

The magnitude of what Dumbledore was asking him to do made his thoughts spiral to the point where they raced so fast he wasn't entirely sure it was him having them at all. He felt the weight of responsibility – how was he supposed to, in secret, convince those promised a better life not to take the chance at it? He saw images, too, snatches of the family life he'd become so accustomed to at The Burrow twisting away like smoke, and Tonks' face –

If he was honest, he'd always half-expected to be asked to do something like this, and yet sitting here in Dumbledore's marvellous office with that kindly but grave stare fixed on him, he felt totally unprepared, too.

He took a steadying breath, tried to think calmly, rationally, in spite of how much the images, the snatches of the normal life he'd enjoyed so much, called to him to say no, that he wouldn't go, that it was too much to be asked to do, too much for him to give up.

He knew that Greyback's interest in aligning with Voldemort for his own purposes had been growing, had heard whispers about werewolves doing the bidding of Death Eaters to curry favour. But that was nothing new – as far back as before the last war there had been those who played on fear to get what they wanted. On the other hand, this seemed more… organised, he thought, more structured, and Greyback's twisted passion for inflicting their condition on youngsters was the stuff of legend.

Remus knew how important it was that they met the threat head on. The thought of Voldemort with a band of angry werewolves at his disposal was almost unimaginable horrific; he knew what it was like to be bitten for revenge and he couldn't imagine standing by and doing nothing –

But he couldn't claim that he had any desire whatsoever to mingle with, let alone live amongst, that kind of werewolf. They were alien to him, as if they were an entirely different species – and when he'd found out that that kind of werewolf, the kind who embraced the opportunity to feed the darkest corners of their own souls, existed, it had horrified and terrified him in equal measure.

How was he supposed to convince them not to revel in what they were, to choose a harder path, filled with the potholes of prejudice and hardship?

And how was he supposed to leave behind the things that made him different? Things – _people_ – like Tonks?

"I understand your reticence," Dumbledore said.

"Excuse me for saying so, headmaster, but I don't believe you do," Remus said.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in the sunlight, and he gestured for Remus to continue, and Remus met his gaze as steadily as he could, trying not to give away what he was really thinking, feeling, that the thought of telling Tonks what he had been asked to do made his insides ache and twist. And the thought of leaving her behind, not seeing her everyday, not knowing she was OK after what had happened –

"As you said," Remus said, "it's an important mission – and a huge task. I'm not – well, I'm not entirely sure I'm up to the job."

"Remus," Dumbledore said, "you have always possessed far more abilities than you believed."

"That may be true," Remus countered, "but that hardly means I have great enough abilities to pull something like this off."

Dumbledore smiled as if impressed, and brought his hands up to his chin, resting his fingertips against it. "When I approached you to be our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," Dumbledore said, "you declined, believing yourself not up to the job – "

Remus opened his mouth to protest, to say that in light of what had happened on the night of his last full moon at Hogwarts, he had been right, but Dumbledore raised his hand for silence.

" – and yet I persisted, and was rewarded with someone who, a great number of students constantly tell me, was the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher they have ever had."

"I was hardly troubled by competition for the title," Remus said, and Dumbledore's eyes sparkled with amusement for a moment, before becoming serious once more.

"Remus," he said, "if I did not believe you capable of this, I would not have asked you to consider it."

Remus pressed his fingers into his chin, trying to suppress a nervous laugh at Dumbledore's words.

"I am far from alone in believing in your abilities," Dumbledore continued. "People look to you for leadership, even though you prefer to remain in the background, and people follow your orders, even though you do not ask them to. They do this because they believe, as I do, in your abilities and your decisions. They have noticed, even though you do not draw attention to it, that you are nearly always right." Dumbledore's eyes glinted with a silent chuckle and he tipped his head a little and regarded Remus over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "That is one thing we have in common," he said. "Should anything happen to me – which one day it will," he added when he saw Remus' mouth open in protest, "I have always felt that the Order of The Phoenix would be in good hands with you at the helm."

"Headmaster – " Remus began, even though he was so surprised he had no idea at all what he might say next.

"It is not flattery," Dumbledore said, holding up a hand to halt Remus' protest, "and nor do I say it to influence your decision about this mission."

Remus nodded, so dazed by their conversation and all the potential outfall from it that he wasn't even really sure what he was agreeing to. "You'll need time to think about it," Dumbledore said.

"No, it's not – "

"I did not expect you to answer straight away," he said. "After all," he added, his eyes darting to the paper bag on the desk, "there is someone you need to discuss the matter with first."

Remus swallowed. "Yes," he said. "When – when would you need me to leave?"

Dumbledore smiled faintly. "I'm afraid," he said, "that the answer to that is: as soon as possible."

* * *

Remus walked.

He wasn't honestly sure how far, but he looked up and realised that he'd made it all the way through Hogsmeade and out past the Shrieking Shack without even noticing where his feet were taking him.

His mind was a muddle, and he found himself unable to quite separate one thought from the next until they became as knotted together as anything he'd seen in Molly Weasley's knitting basket.

Thoughts of Tonks – what he'd tell her, what she might say, became impossibly entangled with images of children, their hearts turned to hatred and bitterness by Greyback's, and then those gave way to pictures from a future he wasn't even sure he could remember considering, that now seemed to hang in the balance.

For so long, he hadn't had a future to think about at all, beyond how he'd fill the hours of the next day and what he could make for dinner, but these days, somehow – and it still felt wonderfully surreal – a potential, possible, even _plausible_ future had crept up on him.

And when he thought about it, he didn't see anything specific, no cottage in the country with roses round the door, a ring glinting on his finger and half a dozen children running around the garden –

But he did see Tonks.

In every vague, half-imagined version, she was there.

He walked on.

They'd talked about it, once, the future, and his mouth had gone completely dry when she'd told him that when she thought about it, she saw him. Although he'd been presented with some pretty compelling evidence that she liked him, he'd never entirely believed that what she wanted from him extended much beyond the here and now, and it had taken his breath away to think that she thought of him as someone who was worth more than that, someone who was worth a long term commitment.

And of course he felt – well, nearly losing her, just the thought of it, had driven home how much she'd come to mean to him.

The ground seemed to pulse with questions and thoughts beneath his feet, but one seemed louder than the rest. He couldn't shy away from the fact that their here and now had just changed, that the foundations they'd both imagined building a future on had shifted.

When he went –

With a sharp breath, he caught himself, because somehow he'd made the decision that it wasn't a case of if.

It wasn't a surprise. He'd always known, he thought, that if asked to do something like this, he wouldn't say no, no matter how undesirable the task ahead. He couldn't stand by, knowing what Greyback was up to, the life he was drawing people into, condemning them to, and do nothing. Especially when he'd done so little, so far, to help, and Sirius –

He swallowed.

Sirius had given all there was to give.

He sighed, fighting the tightness in his chest, which had a myriad causes.

In all the times he'd thought about being asked to do something like this, though, he hadn't banked on having someone like Tonks be part of the equation.

She'd worry, he thought, about him, just as he would about her. He already did, had since he'd bid her goodbye that morning with Pigwidgeon glowering at him.

In truth he'd bought the strawberry sherbets that now rested so heavily in his pocket to reassure himself that he'd see at the end of the day. And he knew she was brave and capable – but in a way, that was what worried him, because although fortune was supposed to favour the former, it wasn't especially likely to keep her safe.

His thoughts spiralled again – what if he went away, and she was worried about him, and lost her concentration? They'd joked about it once, her being so busy thinking of things she wished she'd said to him that she ended up on the wrong end of a deadly curse – she'd said she wanted sunflowers at her funeral – but now –

He sighed.

It wasn't the future either of them had had in mind, he thought, him off to spy on werewolves hell bent on aligning themselves with a deadly ally, and her racked with worry, both facing the difficulties and dangers of their lives alone.

But he couldn't say no.

* * *

In the end, Remus walked nearly all day, eventually finding himself outside her door.

He'd thought so many thoughts, conflicting, contradictory and irreconcilable, that his head span, and he took a deep breath and rested his forehead against the cool painted wood of the doorframe.

He hadn't really come to anything even approaching a decision – or he'd come to so many he had no idea which one was right, because every time he settled on something his mind came up with a caveat or caution and made him rethink the whole thing.

He wished he could be certain how she felt, because everything hinged on that.

He'd heard about mirages, that a desperate man in the desert was likely to see the very thing he desired the most, and he couldn't be completely sure that he wasn't imagining that what he felt was echoed in her eyes, that he hadn't read too much into what she'd said about a future together, because it was what he wanted, more than anything, to see.

He pressed his forehead harder into the wood, but it didn't make his thoughts any clearer, condense them any.

He had to talk to her. He didn't want to; at least, not about this.

That morning, he'd imagined they'd sit around and talk about her first day back at work. He'd imagined that she'd tell him about the mountain of paperwork on her desk, and ask if he thought anyone would notice or care if she just incinerated the lot – and he'd have said that she could claim to have been heating a flask of soup for lunch and misfired, that no-one who knew her would suspect it was anything other than an accident…. She'd have called him a git – he almost chuckled at the thought – punched him on the arm, and he'd have said it was unfair of her to call him that when he'd bought her a bag of her favourite sweets. He'd have turned serious, then, told her not to overdo it….

Remus closed his eyes for a moment, winced in expectation at the thought of what he was about to say instead of all those things, and knocked on the door.

* * *

**A/N: Big love to everyone who put finger to keyboard and left a review for the last chapter. Anyone doing likewise for this one gets a bag of their favourite sweets, hand-delivered by their very favourite werewolf ;).**


	6. Over

Remus slammed his elbows down, hard, on the kitchen table, wincing as pain shot up into his wrists. He rested his head on his hands, pressing his fingers into his forehead, enjoying the distraction from his thoughts that the momentary discomfort provided.

Things had not gone well.

In fact, that was a massive understatement, but he wasn't sure why he'd ever expected anything different, under the circumstances; it wasn't exactly good news he was breaking. But, even given that, it had been beyond awful.

Tonks had answered the door with a smile and pulled him inside, telling him that she'd had a rotten first day back and asking, in a slow, suggestive voice if he had any ideas about how to make it pick up. She'd stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his waist –

He'd closed his eyes for a second, stalled by the incongruity of what he had to say and how at home he felt with her arms around him, as if one meant the other couldn't exist, and yet, there they'd been, jostling for his attention. He supposed it had been partly because in all the possible scenarios he'd mapped out, everything had been earnest from the get-go – the Tonks he'd imagined had never looked at him like _that_, with her dark eyes twinkling and beckoning. And he'd been tempted – oh so very tempted – to wrap his arms around her and take her to bed and have everything melt away.

But it wouldn't have helped. He still would have had to tell her at some point, and putting it off, in however pleasant a way, would do neither of them any favours.

He'd said – forced the words out – that they needed to talk, and Tonks had bitten her lip in a way he'd always found irresistible, met his eye almost shyly and said that if it was about that morning, about him moving in, that he didn't have to, that she just thought if the Burrow was getting too hectic he might like somewhere quiet, and she wouldn't mind the company –

Remus had wished with all his heart that that was what they needed to talk about, but concerns and problems as normal as that had seemed so far away they almost felt alien. Had he ever had a life like that? Had he really expected it to last?

He'd told her that it wasn't that, that it was something that had arisen from his meeting with Dumbledore, and they'd sat down on her little red sofa, and he'd taken her hand –

He wiped his fingers across his mouth and swallowed heavily.

He'd told her everything – what they suspected, what Dumbledore had asked him to do, how dangerous and difficult it was going to be, that he'd be away indefinitely. She'd squeezed his hand, and met his eye with a sympathetic, steely gaze, and said that they'd always known one of them might have to go away, undercover or something, for the Order.

He'd gone on to explain, unnecessarily, probably, since she hadn't questioned it, that he didn't feel he could say no, stand by and damn these people – children – to a life they didn't deserve, and as he'd talked, a thought had crept in. It was unbidden and definitely unwanted, but once it was there, he couldn't unthink it. Wasn't that what he was doing to her? Damning her to a life she didn't deserve?

He wanted the very best for her, but what kind of life would it be, he'd thought, sitting around, waiting for her impoverished werewolf lover to show up, not knowing from one day to the next if he was alive or dead? Every time someone owled or Flooed she'd wonder if it was bad news –

His thoughts had spiralled and his heart had raced, and he hadn't been able to help but picture her scrambling to collect the newspaper every day to check for news of werewolf attacks, ashen-faced from lack of sleep, or owling Dumbledore from work for news, putting her position at the Ministry in jeopardy, and worse – he'd seen flashes of scenarios where even her life was at risk because she wasn't entirely focused on the task in hand, faceless Death Eaters with their wands to her throat –

It had all led him to one conclusion. It wouldn't be fair, and it certainly wasn't the life he wanted for her – and subjecting her to it because of him, what he was….

Wouldn't that have made him just as bad as the feral werewolves, insisting others suffered because they did? Wasn't it selfish to put her through all that?

She'd met his eye with a tentative hopefulness, and said that she'd always thought a long distance relationship could be interesting, that it wouldn't be forever and he'd be back to report –

But the more he'd thought about it, the more 'damned' had beaten itself on the front of his skull, and the words had been out of his mouth before he'd really had chance to think them through:

_I think it might be better if we didn't see each other any more. _

Had he really meant them?

He wasn't sure.

At the time, panic had his chest in a vice-like grip, and thoughts had swirled through his head so fast they made his vision blurry. He'd thought that the least he could do was protect her from a life of worry and uncertainty, that she didn't deserve that after everything she'd already been through, that the least he could do if he cared at all was set her free. He'd thought that, maybe, in spite of everything, if she didn't have this, too, she could be happy – and that was what he wanted more than anything, for her to have the future he'd half imagined, even if he wasn't there to share it.

Or maybe, he thought, he'd just said it because he wanted her to get angry, to argue, to convince him that he was wrong.

He closed his eyes for a moment and took a shaky breath, but all he saw was her, and so he opened them again and sent his gaze on a frantic search of the kitchen, willing it to fasten on something and hold his attention.

There was a lasagne in a stout oven dish on the work surface, and, suddenly feeling the utterly hungerless need to fill himself with something, he _Summoned_ it, and grabbed a fork from the dresser.

But it didn't stop his thoughts from forming.

Tonks had let out a rather hollow 'oh', and let her hand fall from his, and his insides twisted as he remembered the look of shock and hurt in her eyes.

He'd been torn. Half of him had wanted to snatch her hand back, to press it to his chest and say he hadn't meant it, that he'd just thought they should talk about the possibility that that was what would be best for her, and if that wasn't what she wanted then all she had to do was say –

But the other half had thought that hurting her a little bit now was better than the slow drip-drip decline, the gradual slide apart and continued hurt that a relationship under these circumstances would cause them, and so he'd just sat there and waited for her to say something, his heart thundering in his chest.

He'd thought that maybe she'd be angry, that she'd call him a pathetic, evasive, emotionally-crippled wanker again, tell him he was using this as an excuse to run away from what he felt because he was so used to being alone it scared him to deal with even the _possibility_ of not being. He'd thought that maybe she'd just say no, that they'd messed around so much about getting together that she just wasn't having it. Or say that she understood what he was trying to do, but that he was a moron and it didn't have to be like that….

But she didn't. Maybe she didn't know him very well at all, he'd thought. Or maybe he didn't know her.

'What about – everything?' she'd said, gesturing between them, and he'd winced at how her voice shook. It wasn't that she was obviously hurt, because he'd always known that she would be, whatever happened, more that she was surprised – she really hadn't seen this coming, even entertained the possibility – and the thought of how certain she'd been of him, how much she'd trusted him, counted on him –

His insides twisted at the thought.

He hadn't really known what to say.

His actions – if nothing else – had just proven what he'd suspected all along; he didn't deserve her trust, her certainty, her at all, and so he'd just avoided her eyes and swallowed heavily, and then told her he was sorry.

And then he'd left.

He hadn't known what else to do, even though as he'd closed the door behind him he'd pictured her wrenching it back open again and shouting at him, telling him that what they had was too good, too special to throw away and she wouldn't let him. He'd leant on the doorframe for a second and pictured the frantic reconciliatory kiss he longed for –

But the door stayed closed.

He'd walked.

Even though his feet were sore and his legs ached, he'd walked for hours, two warring thoughts in his head: you've done the right thing, she's young, she'll get over it; you've just made the biggest mistake of your life.

He'd made it back to the Burrow eventually, glad to find downstairs utterly deserted, and had sunk into a chair, the latter thought winning out.

He looked at the lasagne in front of him on the table, and, for wont of better things to do, he shovelled a pile of it onto his fork and raised it to his lips.

The kitchen door flew open with a bang, startling him and making him jump a little. "Remus _J_ Lupin," Molly hissed. "I have never heard of _such_ disgusting behaviour."

Remus froze, his fork full of left-over lasagne half-way to his open mouth, eyes darting between it and the oven dish in front of him. It did seem a bit uncouth –

"Not that, dear," Molly said, rolling her eyes at him. "Carry on. You look like you could do with a good meal, and I'm perfectly capable of shouting at you while you eat."

"Oh good," Remus said, shoving his fork into his mouth and staring determinedly at the contents of the oven dish.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Molly on the other side of the kitchen, one hand on her hip and a furious expression on her face. He didn't need to ask what had caused it. He swallowed the lasagne he was half-heartedly chewing with difficulty, wincing a little as he raised his gaze to hers. "Tonks was here," Molly said, her voice clipped and pointed.

"Oh."

His 'oh' sounded even more hollow than Tonks' had earlier, and suddenly the lasagne he hadn't really wanted to eat anyway lost any of its meagre appeal. He set the fork down in the dish and met Molly's eye properly, because he had to know. He didn't care if it made Molly angry, if she woke the whole house up screaming at him that he had no right to ask – he had to know. "How is she?" he said quietly.

He leant heavily on one elbow, pressing his fingers into his jaw, and for a moment Molly just stared at him incredulously, considering him and how to play things, he thought, although searching for what answers in his features he couldn't say.

Eventually, though, her gaze softened a little, and she pulled out a chair at the table and thumped down into it. "Distraught," she said, although she said it as if it were rather more a matter of fact than something she was saying to make him feel guilty.

Not that it stopped him. Remus nodded dumbly, but what else had he expected? The way she'd looked at him….

"She tried to hide it, of course," Molly continued, "but as soon as I told her you weren't here she – well the fight rather went out of her and – we had a chat."

Remus pressed his fingers harder into his mouth. "I didn't realise you two were – " Molly broke off into a vague gesture he supposed was meant to illustrate the word 'together', and Remus managed to force half a smile, biting back a joke that she didn't need to worry about being behind the times because whatever they had been, they weren't any more – but the phrase formed a lump in his throat and wouldn't budge. "Merlin's beard, Remus," Molly said, "how could you break up with her at a time like this, after everything she's been through?"

Remus couldn't deny that the same question had been rattling around in his head for the last few hours, and he shifted in his seat, and rubbed his forehead, where a knot of tension and worry had formed. It was, in addition to everything else, he thought, truly appalling timing.

"I'm going away, Molly," he said, pushing the oven dish across the table as what was left of his appetite suddenly deserted him.

"Away?" Molly said, gazing at him, brow furrowed.

"Yes," he said. "And I'm not sure when I'll be coming back."

Molly's eyes widened in alarm, and she leant forward, concern in her eyes where there had been disapproval. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Dumbledore has asked me to go on a mission," he said. "I'm to live with a pack of werewolves, spy on them, and try to stop as many of them as possible following Greyback into the ranks of the Death Eaters. I'll be away for months."

"But you'll be back to report to Dumbledore, won't you?" Molly said, resting her hands together on the table, eyeing him encouragingly. "For meetings, like Professor Snape? You could see Tonks then. It won't be easy but it seems a bit of an overreaction to –"

"If they find out what I'm up to," Remus said, "they'll kill me."

Molly's face took on a rather ghostly shade, and Remus sighed. "I didn't want her to spend months fretting, waking up every day, wondering if I was alive, running to the Floo, just in case of bad news," he said quietly. "She'd be distracted – I'm not worth it."

"But Remus, surely – "

"Is that what you want for her, a life like that? Is that what you'd want for Arthur, or Bill, or Ginny?"

Remus met her eye, imploring her to understand.

Molly stiffened in her chair a little, her lips pinched together as she thought. "It wouldn't be easy," she said slowly, "but nothing is at a time like this. When Arthur goes away, of course I worry, but that doesn't mean I don't want us to be together because of it. It's worth it, when he comes back."

"It's different," Remus said, and Molly smiled gently, although her eyes said she disagreed.

"Tonks said you'd been together for a few months," she said, and he nodded, "but that she thought – well, she hoped – that things were leading somewhere."

Remus sighed, because of course he'd thought that too – but that was before –

"I know," he said. "I shouldn't have let her build up – expectations. In the long run it's probably better this way anyway – " Molly scoffed. "Really, Molly," he said, although he wasn't entirely sure it was her he was trying to convince. "I'm not sure we were entirely suited to begin with. I'm far too old for her, and what do I really have to offer her except a regular date with a monster once a month?"

Molly opened her mouth to say something, and then evidently changed her mind. She leant back in her chair, and sighed, her eyes darting around the kitchen. "She was really very upset," she said, her eyebrows dipping into a frown.

"I didn't mean to hurt her."

"Well, you did."

"And for that I am truly sorry," he said.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself to say something, to utter some justification for his actions, to come up with some excuse – but he couldn't think of anything, and so he let the breath out as a sigh instead. He leant on his hand and stared into the fire for a moment, wondering where Tonks was now, if she'd come back, try and see him again, what she would have said if he'd been here….

He'd made up his mind, though, hadn't he? There was nothing she _could_ say.

It was for the best. This way she had a chance at a decent life. Really, he should never have let things get as far as they did. It had been foolish of him to think that he – someone like him – could ever have anything approaching a future with a girl like Tonks. She deserved more. She deserved better. She deserved someone who had more to offer.

It saddened him to think that the only thing he had to give her was the chance to be happy with someone else, but that didn't mean it wasn't true.

The flames danced in the grate, and he watched them until his eyes hurt, and then let his eyelids fall.

"You love her," Molly said.

It wasn't a question.

Remus opened his eyes slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching into a sad half smile at the thought. "That's why I have to let her go," he said, rubbing at his jaw as his voice cracked.

For a moment, he thought Molly was going to say something, but instead she pressed her lip together for a moment, and then reached across the table and patted his arm. She offered him a sympathetic smile that he couldn't help thinking was a little tinged with disappointment, and then picked up the oven dish and got to her feet.

"I'll heat this up for you," she said.

Remus nodded, not even having the energy to protest, to say he really wasn't hungry, never had been, possibly never would be again.

He let himself fall back in the chair, and something rustled at his hip.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes again, realising what it was: he still had the bag of strawberry sherbets in his pocket.

* * *

**A/N: Many thanks to those of you who reviewed the last chapter :D. Reviewers this time get extra special rewards for braving the angst. Take your pick from: calling Remus a ninny and giving him a swift cuff round the ear, or giving him a hug and telling him it'll be all right, that you've seen how it ends and there's hand-holding. Or you could just pick-pocket him for his sweets ;).**


	7. Over The Moon

Snowflakes drifted down over Hogsmeade, and Remus pulled his coat more tightly to him as he walked across the cobbles. He'd cast a surreptitious warming charm on the lining the night before, but it had barely stopped his fingernails from turning blue, and now he thought he could feel them doing so again, even thrust deep into his pockets.

He came here, sometimes. He'd get up early, before any of the other werewolves, and Apparate to Hogsmeade to remind himself what civilization looked like. The streets were always deserted – he usually came before dawn, but he liked it that way, and it was enough – just a glimpse of life as he'd known it – to get him through a week or so.

Occasionally he had reason to come later in the day, too, when the streets were bustling. Then, he'd work his way through the crowd, pretending for a while that he was part of it, allowing himself to forget that he was a spy on his way to report, that he'd just come from a place he detested, the kind of place the residents of Hogsmeade would only imagine existed in their nightmares.

Once, he thought he'd seen her, off in the middle distance, shoulders hunched and arms crossed, scurrying down the street. But that girl had had limp brown hair rather than sprightly pink, and so he'd known his mind was just playing tricks on him, seeing her face in those of other people, because a glimpse of her was the thing he longed for most.

And even if it _had_ been Tonks, he thought, it wasn't as if he would have had the nerve to speak to her.

He tried not to think about her: but he did, anyway.

And he ached.

At first, he'd thought that his body was protesting because of the cold, because he slept on stone, because he was old. It had taken him nearly a month to realise that it wasn't that at all, that it was her. He woke up aching for her, and went to sleep aching for her; he didn't need to think about her, the ache was just there, as if it was part of him, a constant companion.

But he didn't mind it; it was no less than he deserved.

The cobbles were a little icy, and the snow on them twinkled, slightly, in the half-light of dusk. The streets were fuller than he'd thought they would be – last minute Christmas shoppers, he supposed – and in the windows of the shops that remained open were decorations, attempting a little seasonal cheer in spite of everything. Remus made his way past them, looking at the displays, trying not to wonder what Tonks was doing for Christmas.

Most of the time, he thought he'd done the right thing – or not the right thing, but the only thing he could have done under the circumstances. It wasn't most of the time that was the problem, though.

Sometimes, late at night, when he huddled close to the fire and the conversation around him couldn't hold his attention, he wondered what on earth he'd been thinking. His thoughts would turn to how much easier the mission would be if he knew he had her on his side, if he could see her, occasionally, and have her tell him that what he was doing was worthwhile, that it mattered. Having her to return to, he thought, having her to make it all go away for a while, would have made everything more bearable.

But he knew that that would have been selfish, it wouldn't have been fair to offload his problems on her – not when she had so much to deal with already, and this was something he had to do alone.

The feral werewolves were a ragged bunch, made even more ragged by their situation. Fights were common between the grown-ups, who all seemed to think they had something to prove, and were not uncommon between the children, either, who followed the example they were being set.

Remus talked, endlessly, about the falsehoods Voldemort promised, told them that he just wanted to use them to instil fear. He asked them, often, whether they wanted to be reduced to that, a weapon, something someone else could use to get what _they_ wanted –

He said that he'd seen it before – with the giants, and look what happened to them – but the younger werewolves just muttered about him being an old timer, and the older ones said that this was different, although sometimes he thought the look in their eyes said they agreed, but what other choice did they have?

He thought he was making headway, maybe, although it never felt like quite enough.

He'd tried to be more and more convincing – desperate for some of them to say they agreed to justify the sacrifices he'd made, to prove that this, the ache in his chest, was worth it, and he clung to the hope that he'd sewn seeds of doubt –

But Greyback was charismatic, and talked of supremacy, a life beyond the war that would be filled with everything they wanted, and Remus couldn't really compete, because what was he offering? The chance to do what was right, and get nothing for it but maybe some work if they found an understanding benefactor?

He tried not to think about it in those terms – but it was hard not to, especially when people faced him with challenge in their eyes and a snarl on their lips, asking him to spell out exactly what was on the table if they didn't fall in line with Greyback.

And he understood.

The stories they told, stories of being abandoned by loved ones, cast out – he'd always thought he'd been lucky in a lot of ways, but the stories really brought home quite how extraordinarily fortunate he'd been.

So many of them hadn't had anything – education, friends, love –

He couldn't deny that it left a rather bitter taste in his mouth that he'd had all that, and more – but had ended up in no better a place.

He'd even, he thought, given the latter away.

His chest constricted painfully at the thought, and he balled his fists in his pockets. He couldn't – _mustn't_ – think like that.

It was for the best, he told himself.

She was probably over him by now, anyway, had found someone younger, more suitable, someone who'd never blend in with a pack of werewolves. It was arrogant to think anything else, he thought, and she was so wonderful, she was bound to meet someone new, someone who could offer her all the things he couldn't.

And even if Dumbledore hadn't needed a spy – would things really have worked out for them? They were so different….

His heart sank a little as a thought occurred: now, he'd never know.

* * *

"Remus."

Dumbledore greeted him with a smile, and beckoned him into his office, _Conjuring_ a chair near the fire and indicating that he should sit.

Remus did so, thankfully, shucking his coat off his shoulders for the first time in days and warming his feet by the fire. "How goes it?" Dumbledore said, sinking down into his own armchair on the other side of the hearth and gesturing to the teapot. Remus nodded – accepted a cup of tea and warmed his hands, relaxing a little as the heat made feeling flow back into his frozen fingers.

"As well as can be expected," Remus said, offering Dumbledore a small smile – he didn't want to give him false expectations. "They're not an easy bunch to convince."

Dumbledore tapped the fingers of his good hand on his lips. "I should imagine not," he said. "But you think, perhaps, that there is hope?"

"Some," Remus said, taking a sip of his tea. "Maybe."

Dumbledore leant back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. "Well that," he said, "is a good place to start." Remus nodded.

"I have intelligence," he said, setting his teacup down for a moment and fumbling in his pocket for the parchment. He withdrew it, tapped it with his wand to reveal the contents, and handed it to Dumbledore. "I was able to get away for a spell and make some notes. Greyback has been away a lot, recently. I tracked him to a number of locations – they're all listed – where he met with various high-ranking Death Eaters. They're planning something, and they have a new recruit in Penrith – there's a map to his house – "

"So I see," Dumbledore said, his eyes glimmering with approval.

Remus reached for his teacup, moulding his fingers back to the china and settling it in his lap. "There are whispers in the camp about some kind of mass attack – a show of strength – at the next full moon," he said, and Dumbledore met his eye and frowned a little. "I think it's mostly talk," Remus continued, "and a lot of the werewolves are opposed – they don't want to draw attention and end up in Azkaban, or worse. But the camp – well, it's not a democracy, and it would only take a handful of transformed werewolves to wreak havoc."

Dumbledore nodded. "We will keep our ears to the ground," he said. He glanced at the parchment once more, taking in the details Remus had recorded.

In truth, Remus had done it more because the hunger made him forgetful than anything else – but allowing himself to sneak away sometimes and record what he could had helped him to feel detached, too, to remind him of why he was there – that he wasn't really a homeless wretch after all, but a man with a job to do. "This will be most useful," Dumbledore said. "I'll send a copy to Alastor presently."

Remus settled back in his chair a little, stretching his legs and wiggling his toes as they tingled at the unfamiliar sensation of real warmth seeping into them. "And you?" Dumbledore said. "You are well?"

Dumbledore smiled kindly, eyeing him with concern, and Remus didn't know quite what to say. Most of the time he was cold, hungry, drained from both – and so he just smiled faintly by way of reply.

In all honesty, he was faring better than he'd expected. He'd lived on nothing but wits and magic for most of his life, and although he'd always done it in slightly more salubrious surroundings, it really wasn't that much different. He'd become accustomed to it, he supposed. He didn't like it, being reduced to so little after having so much, but he could deal with it, and what choice did he have?

"I'm surviving," he replied, with a smile that was fainter still.

Dumbledore considered him for a moment, and then nodded. "I hear Molly has invited you for Christmas," he said. "I daresay the chance to have a few square meals will be welcome."

"Yes," Remus said. "Very much so."

"Will you be seeing Nymphadora?"

The question caught Remus off-guard, and he started a little at the sound of her name, and then leant heavily on the arm of the chair, considering how to reply. He shifted in his seat, a little unnerved by the weight of Dumbledore's gaze. Of course he'd thought about it, had half accepted the invitation to go to The Burrow because he wondered if she'd be there, too, but….

Two thoughts jostled in his head. The first was that he couldn't imagine that she'd want to see him, not after what he'd done, and the second was that, much as he longed to see her, what on earth would he say? Would he pretend that he wanted to be friends? Would he be able to handle that, after everything he'd imagined that went so much further?

He shook his head. "She has – " Dumbledore paused, frowned a little, as if searching for the right word. " – not been quite herself, these past few months."

"No?" Remus' voice leapt a little in alarm he couldn't contain, and he leant forward.

Dumbledore smiled reassuringly, but it didn't quash the panic rising in his chest entirely. "It is not my place to guess, of course," Dumbledore said, raising an eyebrow to indicate that although he thought it wasn't his place, he was going to anyway, "but I would venture that she misses you."

"Oh," Remus said, sounding a little more surprised than anything. "Well…."

He found that he didn't know what to say, and so he stared at the contents of his teacup, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

Did she really..?

"It's not been easy," Remus said quietly, "for either of us."

"A visit, if you can find the time," Dumbledore said, raising his eyebrows, "might lift her spirits. Yours too, perhaps."

Dumbledore smiled a little more encouragingly, and Remus ran a hand over his face, and then nodded. He wasn't sure it would be a good idea – but the thought of her, not quite herself – whatever that meant – tugged at his heart, and the ache in his chest was back, and stronger than ever.

* * *

Remus stared into the fire, thinking about Tonks.

Christmas at the Burrow had been a lively affair, with arguments over Celestina Warbeck, the surprise appearance of the Minister and even a food-fight, but all that faded as soon as the house descended into quiet, and, as Christmas Day drew to a close, he was left with no distraction from his thoughts.

Remus wished things were different. He wished he was just a man, and she was just a woman, and there was no war that required sacrifices. But he knew it was useless wishing things were different, because things were the way they were, and it didn't do to dwell on dreams. He had to deal with reality, and the reality was that he couldn't save himself from the life he had, he couldn't save himself from the heartache, but he could save her, perhaps.

Or so he'd thought.

But what if he hadn't done that at all?

If what Harry had said at lunch was true….

It almost didn't bear thinking about, but he couldn't help _but_ put it together with what Dumbledore had said. And she'd seemed so shocked when he'd ended things –

For her Patronus to change at all, let alone to what he thought it might have changed to, well, that would mean –

It was almost too big a thought to hold in his head.

Molly and Arthur were playing wizarding chess on the sofa – Molly was winning, he thought, although Arthur was bearing it with amused good grace. He watched them play for a moment – Arthur's knight captured one of Molly's pawns, and he gave an 'aha!' of triumph, before she checkmated him with her rook –

He'd always admired them, in a way, how generous they were with everything, including their love. But he and Tonks – it really wasn't the same, because they had so much more to deal with. And even if she did love him –

He swallowed, realising that he'd never thought those words before.

Would Tonks want to see him?

He thought about it for a moment, trying to put himself in her shoes –

But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed that maybe whether or not she wanted to see him wasn't the question at all. Maybe the question was really, could he come here at Christmas, hear from Dumbledore that she wasn't herself, and from Harry, unintentionally, how she felt, and _not_ go to see her?

"I might just – er –"

Molly looked up, her fingers poised over her mug of mulled wine, and Remus stalled. He'd been about to make up some ludicrous lie about going for a walk, even though it was past midnight and the air outside blustered with the promise of a fierce storm, but the words faltered on his lips. "I thought, maybe, Tonks – "

Arthur met his eye with an approving glint. "She's staying at the Three Broomsticks," he said, smiling, and Remus got to his feet, and _Summoned_ his coat from the rack in the hall.

"Don't you do anything to upset her," Molly called after him, as he opened the door and headed out into the night.

The pub was still bristling with people when he arrived. He knew that in times of crisis people were drawn to any chance for celebration, but even so, it surprised him a little to see so many cheerful faces. There were decorations in the window – mistletoe above the door – and it warmed him, a little, to see such happiness at a time when so little seemed to exist, sometimes.

He wondered if Tonks was in the crowd, somewhere, but a brief scan of the room told him that she wasn't, and so he squeezed his way to the bar and asked Rosmerta which room she was staying in.

Rosmerta gave up the information freely, possibly, Remus thought, owing to the large blackcurrant brandy clutched in her hand, and he made for the stairs leading to the guest rooms.

He reached the door, and hesitated, unsure of what he was about to do.

He ran a hand through his hair – he knew he didn't exactly look like every girl's dream these days – but being this close, he couldn't turn away.

He knocked softly on the door.

After a moment, when there was no reply, he knocked a bit harder, then inched closer. He heard a groan from within, and the bed springs creaked. "For the last time, Rosmerta. I don't want to get off with your bloody – " The door flew open, and beyond it was Tonks, glaring. " – brother."

The last word dropped from her lips, and confusion flickered over her face for a second as her eyes took him in, and he thought that whether she wanted to see him or not, it appeared he was the last person she'd been expecting.

For a moment, and then another, they just looked at each other.

Remus didn't really know what to say, and so he bit his lip, shifted his weight, balled his fists and then released them.

"Hello," he said quietly.

"Hello," she replied.

His eyes swept over her – she was wearing a black Weird Sisters T shirt and stripy flannel pyjama bottoms, her hair, mousy today, was fluffy and unkempt-looking, and the realisation that she'd probably been in bed flooded through him. "I didn't mean to wake you," he said.

"Then why did you knock the door?"

She met his eye and raised her eyebrow in challenge. "I meant – I didn't think that you'd be asleep," he said. "I'll go."

"No," she said quickly – a little too quickly, and a look of self-reproach flashed through her eyes. "I'm up now, anyway, so you might as well come in."

She shrugged with would-be nonchalance, and stood back from the door, gesturing to the room. He stepped past her and looked around, taking in a desk, a chair, a large double bed and a wardrobe, more to have something to do than because he was actually interested in what the Three Broomsticks accommodation was like.

Tonks' possessions and clothes were liberally scattered about the place. He normally found her clutter cheering – he thought it implied that she was too busy with life for things like tidying – but now he thought there was something sad about the way her clothes hung off the back of the chair and lay in piles, as if she'd abandoned them, as if she didn't care.

The door closed behind Tonks, and, in the absence of other ideas, Remus crossed to the window and peered between the curtains out onto the dark Hogsmeade high street, watching as snow began to fall, noting how the moon made the flakes glitter as they settled. "How've you been?" Tonks said, and her voice was nervous, as if she didn't know quite what to say, either.

"As well as can be expected," he said, one corner of his mouth twitching into an unintentional smile. "You?"

"Same," she said, and then sighed. "What are you doing here, Remus?"

Remus turned, and met her eye, and, for a second, he thought he saw a flicker of the same hopefulness on her features he'd seen when he'd told her that he was leaving, when she'd said that they'd find a way to cope, together. He wondered if she thought he'd changed his mind; if he was honest, looking at her, remembering what it felt like to have those dark eyes light up in a smile he'd caused, _he_ wondered if he'd changed his mind, too.

When he didn't answer, she raised an eyebrow at him slightly, but still, he didn't really know how to answer the question, because he wasn't entirely sure what he _was_ doing there. He'd come because he couldn't not, but that hardly seemed like an answer at all.

"Molly said you were spending Christmas alone," he said, and Tonks frowned a little.

"That was the idea," she said.

"The idea?"

"Hmm," she said. "I've been working a lot – I fancied a day off – I was just going to forget Christmas was happening…. But Dumbledore heard, and he sent me some dinner. Those, too, for some reason," she said, frowning a little in confusion, gesturing to the bedside table, where an extra large glass jar, that looked suspiciously like the ones that normally decked the shelves at Honeyduke's, sat, filled to the brim with strawberry sherbets.

"Oh," Remus said, smiling sadly at the thought.

"And then Rosmerta – well, she's got this brother – and she kept coming up, trying to get me to go downstairs – "

She trailed off. "Not in the mood?" he offered.

"Not really," she said.

They lapsed into silence, but as he looked at her – unable, really, to drag his eyes away because it had been so long – he couldn't help but think about what Dumbledore had said, what he'd surmised from what Harry had told him, and he wanted to talk about both….

But did he have the right?

Regardless of how much he cared, they weren't together any more.

"You could have come to The Burrow," he said, instead. "No-one should have to be alone at Christmas."

"No-one should be alone at all, if they don't have to be," she said, meeting his eye and holding his gaze rather pointedly.

"I meant – "

Tonks cut him off with an irritated sigh. "Why is it not ok for me to be alone at Christmas, but it's ok for me to be alone any other day of the year?" she said, her jaw tensing, her eyes darkening. "Because Christmas brings out the guilt in people?"

"Tonks – "

"What?" she said. "You've been away for months – but now, because it's Christmas, you're worried that I might be lonely? Did you even give a rat's ass about that when you left? I mean Merlin, Remus, you didn't even say goodbye. I had to hear it from _Molly_."

Remus wanted to say that of course he cared – that he thought about her constantly and he'd wanted more than anything to write and explain, to see how she was – that he only hadn't because his situation meant he couldn't. He wanted to tell her, too, that he hadn't said goodbye because he knew he wouldn't have been able to, that he'd thought it would be better if he just drifted away, that he was sorry if that had upset her –

But somehow, all of that seemed rather unimportant. There was no justification for what he'd done, and so there was no point in trying to pretend there was.

He sighed and glanced back at the window, where the moon just peeked through the curtains.

Were it not for the moon, he thought, the hold it had on him thanks to Greyback, none of this would be happening. They'd have spent Christmas together – maybe here, on their own, ruining the turkey and drinking cooking sherry and laughing, or at The Burrow, with everyone, offering to wash up, with her dropping the plates and him catching them. They'd planned it, almost, once, months ago – he'd even thought about what kind of present he'd get her –

But that was before his half-imagined future had slipped through his fingers and twisted away like smoke.

For a second, he saw a flash of Tonks in a paper hat that clashed horribly with her hair, and himself grinning, and he closed his eyes for a moment, savouring it, and then pushed the image aside.

"I didn't come here to argue," he said softly. "I know I haven't – handled things well, but – I just wanted to see you." He tentatively met her eye, and attempted a smile. "I thought, maybe, that you'd want to see me, too – not just because it's Christmas, but because we haven't, in a while – "

He faltered, not really knowing what he was saying or if it was the right thing to say at all, but when she didn't immediately leap in and tell him to shut up, that what right did he have to expect her to want to see him, he pressed on, meeting her eye more certainly, this time. "And I don't blame you for being angry – I'd be livid. I'd have slammed the door in my face – but – "

"Yeah, well," Tonks said, her expression softening a little. "I was asleep. You caught me a bit off guard – I only invited you in to see if you were real or if I was still dreaming."

He smiled a little, wondering if he should chance a joke. "What's the verdict?"

"You're real," she said, rolling her eyes. "You're being too annoying to be dream you."

He smiled a little more widely, and moved away from the window a little, closer to her. "I've heard – I've no right to ask – but Dumbledore said you hadn't been quite yourself, recently."

He wanted to ask about her Patronus, if it meant what he thought it did – but if she wanted him to know, he thought, she'd tell him herself.

"I've – " She swallowed, avoiding his gaze, and then meeting it purposefully. "It's not been a lot of fun round here without you."

He let out a short huff of amusement, which died the instant she slipped her hand into his, twining their fingers together. She bit her lip and met his eye, smiled a little, and he knew he shouldn't give in to the urge to squeeze her fingers, but he couldn't help it.

He'd forgotten how good it felt to have her hand in his. "Tonks," he said quietly. "I'm – I'm leaving again. We shouldn't – "

"But you'll be back, won't you?" she said. "After the full moon in January, and the one after that – and maybe you won't be away for much longer – "

"Tonks – "

"I just – I don't see what good it's doing, us not being together," she said, and Remus closed his eyes to try and shut out what she was suggesting, even though her fingers in his were doing as much as her words to undo his resolve.

Moreover, he knew she meant it. The earnest hope in her voice said that if they could only see each other once a month, then she'd find a way to make that work – and he wanted to give in –

"I know it won't be easy," she said softly. "I'm not stupid – but this – " She gestured vaguely between them with her free hand. " – well, it's not exactly been a walk in the park, has it?"

"You'd do nothing but worry."

"I already do nothing but worry," she said, her fingers tightening on his. "I didn't stop caring just because you left."

"I – "

"_Or_ because you acted like a total git."

She met his eye, and, for a moment they shared a half-hearted, and rather croaked, chuckle.

He wanted, more than anything, to say yes to her – and at the thought of pulling her to him and whispering all the things he was desperate to say in her ear, his heart pounded.

But he knew he couldn't, however much he wanted to.

"Maybe I shouldn't have ended things the way I did," he said, slowly, each word as heavy as stone in his chest, "but it's still over." Tonks opened her mouth to protest, and so he continued, quickly. "It has to be. And I wish – I wish it could be different, but – "

"Why can't it? Why does it have to be like this?"

"What I'm doing is very dangerous – "

"You've hardly got the monopoly on that, Remus," she said. "It's not like I'm here knitting scarves for the house elves."

He smiled a little at her joke, but he couldn't give in to it. "I know, but – "

"If it's that dangerous, don't go back," she said. "Tell Dumbledore you've had enough. He'll understand." Remus shook his head, and Tonks frowned. "I just – " She swallowed heavily, looking away.

"I don't want you to waste your life worrying – "

Her hand dropped from his and she folded her arms, glaring at him. "So now I'm not even allowed to worry about the man I l –"

"Nymphadora – "

He cut her off, sure of what she was about to say, and doubly sure that he couldn't stand to hear it. A rather pained frown crossed her features, but she didn't go on, although that didn't make the tightness in his chest at the thought of what her next word would have been lessen any.

Remus took a deep breath, ran his hand over his face. "I – it's not just about what I'm doing."

"Then what is it about?"

Remus swallowed. It wasn't something that he wanted – ever intended, really, to put into words. But he had to, because she needed to understand. "You deserve more," he said, refusing to meet her eye, even though he could see that she was peering at him, her eyebrows high on her forehead. "I just – I don't want me for you."

"But I do," she said softly. "Don't I have a say in the matter?"

"No," he said. "I'm far too old for you, and I've spent the last four months sleeping on the floor of a cave, which is barely worse than my usual living arrangements – "

"I don't care about either of those things," she said.

"Then care that I'm a werewolf."

"I don't," she said, and there was such certainty in her voice that he winced. "I never have. And you know it."

For a moment, he studied the carpet, feeling a little winded by her words, a little embarrassed, even, because he knew they were true. He didn't even know what he was saying, really, how they'd come to be here or how things had become so complicated, when once upon a time everything had felt – _been_ – simple.

Did he even mean what he'd said? Or was he just trying to make her see how unsuitable he was, giving her excuses, reasons, not to care?

"I have to go," he said.

"You don't," she said. "I know you're staying at The Burrow for a few days – Molly told me."

"Oh."

"She thinks I should pop in," Tonks said, her voice a little lighter, more amused, than it had been, "so we can have a chat."

Remus met her eye, and as she smiled, he felt some of the tension dissipate, although he wasn't entirely sure why, because they hadn't resolved anything, and nothing had changed – none of the reasons he had for not being with her any more had gone away.

But maybe they'd both said all they could on that, for now, he thought, and it was time to say something else. "I don't think Molly's very impressed with me, at the moment," he said.

"Good," Tonks said, and then she laughed, just a little, but with enough gusto to remind him of what it sounded like when she was happy.

"I didn't – " He stalled, searching for the words. "If I'd known," he said, "that things would end like this, I wouldn't have let – it's just – this isn't what I intended."

"I know."

He looked at her for a moment, and she smiled. "It hasn't ended like this, though, has it?" she said. "It's not over – because if it was, you wouldn't have come here, and you wouldn't care about whether I was lonely at Christmas."

He rubbed his fingers across his mouth, hiding his smile behind them, because, really, he never could fault her logic, and she'd always had a knack for seeing right through him. It was one of the things he liked most about her.

"I still think it'd be better – "

"I know you do," she said. "But you've been known to be wrong – you said so yourself."

He couldn't help but let a smile form this time, and let her see it, and so he met her eye, his lips hitching. "You're not going to let this go, are you?" Tonks shook her head.

"Any reason I should?"

He supposed not, although he didn't say it.

Even though he knew it was dangerous – and desperately unwise – Remus stepped closer, taking her face in his hand and tilting it up to his. "Just tell me," he said, his voice catching in his throat, "that when I go, you'll be all right."

She smiled, her gaze flickering all over his face. "I'm all right now, aren't I?" she said. "Not great – not skipping through the town singing, but – " She trailed off, her eyes fixing on his. "I've told you before. I'm tougher than I look."

Remus sighed, then rested his forehead against hers. Her skin was cool, and for a moment, he just allowed himself to feel it – and then shifted so he could place a kiss on her temple – because he couldn't not.

And that was all he'd intended – a gesture – but she was so close –

Her lips on his were soft, but hungry, and he couldn't help but return the sentiment. He'd forgotten, he thought, or tried not to remember, how this felt, how she made him feel, how she made the world go away, and he pulled her closer, tangling his fingers in her hair and kissing her as desperately as he'd wanted to for months.

He wanted to take things further – to fall onto the bed and never get up again – but he knew that he couldn't, and so, slowly, he pulled away, wincing and meeting her eye with not a little apology – although whether it was for what had just happened or that not more was going to, he wasn't entirely sure.

"I have to go," he said. "If I don't leave now, I never will."

She nodded, although her fingers were still on his waist, his still in her hair. "Think about what I said," he said. "Who I am – it's not going to go away – I've got so little to offer – "

"I'm not going to let you leave me over something as stupid as the moon," she said, her gaze steely. "Leave me because you think I'm annoyingly chipper, leave me because you don't like me any more, or, Merlin, even because you think I'm crap in bed – but not because of that. Not because of them – what happened to you."

He held her gaze for a moment, trying to wrap his brain around what she'd said – what he'd said, everything that had happened, but he found that he couldn't, and so he just pressed his lips back to hers for a blissful second, and then moved away.

She backed away a little, too, and the regret he saw in her eyes was, he was certain, an echo of that in his own.

"Take care," she said.

"You too," he replied.

"Merry Christmas."

* * *

Outside, the wind purred and hissed and chilled his skin, and Remus thrust his hands deep into his pockets.

Everything that had happened barely felt real, but when he glanced back at her window, there she was. She smiled faintly, and he did too, not really sure where they stood at all. They weren't together, he didn't think, but not truly apart, either – and now he thought about it, he wasn't sure they ever really had been.

He wanted to stay all night, and just look at her, but he knew he couldn't – that he'd either freeze to death, or Molly would come looking for him, demanding to know if he'd upset Tonks and if he hadn't, what had taken so long, and so he raised his hand in some approximation of a wave, turned and started to walk away, not looking back, but knowing she was watching.

He waited until he was round the corner to Apparate, taking a last look at civilization – at where she was, though he couldn't see her – trying to frame the scene, and her place in it, in his mind so he'd be able to picture it whenever he wanted.

Then, he closed his eyes, and disappeared, went back to The Burrow to face Molly's faint disapproval and inquisition –

And in Hogsmeade, the snow continued to fall.

* * *

**A/N: Many thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and I hope you liked this bumper instalment. Reviewers get a frosty werewolf to warm up in a method of their choosing ;). **


	8. Over and Over

They hadn't spoken.

It had been two days since she'd said what she'd said and he'd said what he'd said, and they hadn't spoken.

Which wasn't to say that things had gone entirely unsaid, because every time she looked at him, he could see in her eyes what she felt. She was angry and hurt and at the end of her tether – and he'd done it, all of it, even though he had no idea how they'd ended up here, or how things had become this complicated, this fraught.

Remus' thoughts were a jumble – he didn't know what to think any more – Dumbledore was gone, and Bill was lying in a hospital bed with scars that would never heal on his face, and the one person he needed –

He didn't blame Tonks for cracking, saying what she'd said.

They'd argued, earlier that evening, before the Death Eaters had broken in. She'd told him – again – that them being apart was pointless, that she didn't care what his reasons were, and he'd said – again – that he thought it was best –

But in truth, they'd had the same conversation so many times he didn't really hear the words any more, less so know what they meant.

And since, they hadn't spoken.

It wasn't that he didn't have things to say, because there were so many things he wanted to share with her. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, because he did, it hadn't gone away, as he'd thought it might, that he was sorry for the pain he'd caused her, because he was, and always would be – and he longed to tell her that he wanted her, but wasn't good enough, that she would see it too, if she tried –

But it wasn't just that. He wanted to talk to her about everything. He wanted to know what she thought about what had happened to Dumbledore, to see if she was all right –

But he couldn't.

He supposed he was a little bit afraid that if he _did_ speak to her, he was too tired and too lonely and too shocked by everything that had happened to do anything other than fall into her arms, and he knew that now, he'd let her convince him, when really, he oughtn't.

He ached with missing her, though. Now more than ever, actually.

He risked a glance at her across the hospital wing. She was arranging the flowers she'd brought – making them worse, actually – but there'd been real gratitude in Molly and Fleur's eyes when she'd produced them, and then a vase, said they didn't have to get up, that she'd do it.

Fleur had attempted some small talk, said she'd thought about lilies for the wedding but they were too common, and Molly had said that wildflowers were, she thought, very pretty, unusual, too –

Fleur had nodded, and some kind of agreement had flowed between them, before the wing lapsed into silence again.

Tonks was supposed to be patrolling the school, and she'd just stopped for a minute, she said, to get an update. Remus wondered if she was lying, if she'd known he'd be here –

If he was honest, he hoped she was, because he'd come partly because, now Greyback knew which side he was really on, he didn't have anything else to do, but mostly because he'd known she'd be patrolling. He'd hoped that just seeing her, even for a moment, would loosen the ache, the tightness in his chest, so that he could bear it.

Had he expected her still, after all this time and all the arguments, to make his heart pound, though?

He wasn't sure, but it did – and the ache hadn't loosened, it was stronger, now she was here, so close –

Remus had thought about what she'd said – what everyone had said – in fact, he'd thought about little else, and the tantalising notion that they were right twisted in front of him, vague, yet vivid, too. He hadn't slept for thinking about it, allowing himself to see, if only for a moment at a time, that his half-imagined future wasn't gone forever, that all he had to do was reach out and summon the guts to take it.

And he wanted – so desperately – to believe them all, to believe in _it_, but he still couldn't get away from the nagging doubt that it wasn't fair. He wasn't a spy any more – but he was still a werewolf, and the evidence of what werewolves were capable of, the ruin they could foist upon other people, lay on the bed in front of him.

Werewolf.

Until he'd been away with the ferals, had he really known what it meant? It had always been a part of him, something he was and couldn't change, but the terrifying possibility of what it _could_ mean –

No. He hadn't really understood that.

There'd been an incident, though, that had made him realise, with stunning and frightening clarity. He and Dumbledore had talked about it, the whispers in the camp of some kind of show of strength –

He'd tried to stop them. He'd tried logic, told them that just because they _could_ make others like them, it didn't mean they had to. He'd told them that Greyback was wrong, that _it_ was wrong to revel in the darkest part of their own souls –

But they hadn't listened. There was no right and wrong to them – maybe they'd been wronged so often that the concept had been worn away. They only thought of power, and the promise of better things for themselves in the future.

He'd tried other arguments – shouted that what kind of show of strength was it to bite a child on someone else's orders for, of all things, revenge? He'd called them puppets, told them they were weak and pathetic, that they'd fallen for the oldest trick in the book –

And when that had failed, he'd _Stunned_ a couple of them, injured more –

But it hadn't helped. He hadn't been able to stop them all, and although some of the other werewolves had shifted uncomfortably, muttered that they agreed, when it came to it, none of them had stood at his side.

And the moon had risen.

He'd said it himself: it only took a couple of fully grown werewolves to wreak utter havoc, and they had, on one family at least.

It had only taken him a moment to place the name. He'd seen it scrawled on homework, although the word 'Montgomery' looked entirely different at the top of an essay and printed in the _Daily Prophet_.

He ran his hand over his jaw at the thought.

Dumbledore had said he didn't have to go back, but Remus had thought that now, _now _they'd see. Some of them had killed a boy – crushed a family – and the others had stood by and not stopped them –

He'd thought it would change things, that the others would be as horrified as he was, as sick to their stomachs at the thought. And some of them, he'd thought, maybe were, or at least regretted not stepping in. There'd been a lot of talk about when _they_ were bitten – the confusion they'd felt at seeing disgust and panic and even hate in people's eyes when they looked at them –

But there had been no grand uprising, no sea change in the thoughts of the camp, and Greyback had crowed about a victory. He'd talked with glee about how the pathetic Montgomery woman would always remember and rue the day she defied the Death Eaters, and spoke excitedly of the fear his faithful werewolves had caused, and how now, people would do what they wanted.

And Remus had known it wasn't true, that Greyback was wrong, but he'd run out of words to express it, and few had been listening, anyway.

He'd reported more often, after that.

Partly, there was more to report, talk of more attacks – he'd thwarted a couple at the last full moon, obtained the names of the families and Dumbledore had made sure they were safe – but mostly, he just couldn't stand to be there.

And it wasn't them, really, what they'd done, though he loathed their actions with every inch of his being, and it wasn't Greyback, and his speeches, the sneer on his lips when he talked of cowardly detractors within the camp who were too weak to embrace what they truly were, he just –

He'd been slapped in the face, he supposed, with the thought that maybe people had been right not to want him around, offer him jobs, have him teach their children, because look what he was capable of.

Tonks moved to the window and gazed out across the grounds for a moment, and he watched. Her gaze followed a bird, then fell on the grass, then the ledge, and with the sunlight on her face, he thought she looked serene, somehow, in spite of everything.

It seemed impossible – completely beyond the bounds of any rational thought – that she could love someone like him.

But she had, hadn't she?

Or did.

He'd seen her, on the steps outside Dumbledore's office, just after the attack – and she hadn't hesitated. She'd just thrown her arms around him and held him close, whispering that she'd thought it was him who'd died, how good it was to see him, in his ear. And he'd whispered back about how he couldn't stop it, that he hoped now, now they'd listen because they had to, or else what was it all for?

She hadn't for a second suspected he'd been part of the attack. She'd known what he was capable of, but never once suspected he'd sink to it, and her faith in him was, well, a little beyond what he was able to grasp.

He'd never wanted to let her go….

But of course he had.

He sighed.

The future he'd imagined with her – it had been everything he'd always been afraid to dream of having. He'd seen friends fall in love and start to believe in forever, and been happy for them, but he'd never thought that he could have that, too.

And every time he thought about it – just the possibly – he thought that yes, it was everything – more than everything – he'd ever wanted, and it would be almost unimaginably wonderful to be with her; but when Tonks had thought about the future, what had she pictured? Surely anything he had to offer would just be so much less than she'd imagined.

Was it fair to expect her to settle for him? Even if she wanted to?

He pressed his fingers into his forehead and closed his eyes for a second.

His thoughts were a mess – they had been for months, and these days he couldn't make sense of them. It was as if he had too many – and some of them conflicted, jostled in his brain for his attention.

There were two that kept coming back, over and over: he'd thought it a gesture of love to let her go, to let her find happiness with someone who deserved to have her, but it wasn't a gesture of love to hurt her as he had and continue to do so, to make her eyes as desolate and despairing as they were now when she looked at him.

Maybe it _wasn't_ fair, he thought, to ask her to settle for him when she really could do so much better – but he didn't think it was entirely fair, either, to let things continue as they were, when she seemed so –

Not herself.

When he opened his eyes, she met them, and offered him a tentative smile, although it was a little forced and, he couldn't help feeling, rather hollow. He smiled back, similarly faintly, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Molly and Fleur exchange a glance.

He knew they didn't – couldn't – understand, however much they thought they did, but it was nice, he thought, that they cared, especially when they both had so much on their minds.

Tonks swallowed, and cleared her throat. "I'd best be off," she said. "I'll be back in a bit, though, and – you'll let me know if you need anything, or…."

"I weel tell 'im you were 'ere," Fleur said, and Tonks smiled at her in thanks, and then left, barely meeting Remus' eye as she closed the door to the hospital wing behind her.

He wondered –

"You still haven't told her, have you?" Molly said, and Remus frowned, shaking his head in question. "That you love her."

"Molly – I'm not sure this is entirely the time or the place."

"No, well," she said, "maybe not, but if you don't do something soon, you're going to lose that girl forever."

Fleur made a noise of agreement and settled back a little in her chair, and Remus swallowed. The thought of losing Tonks forever –

But that was what he'd wanted, wasn't it?

He'd been so certain, once. Then why did the thought make panic rise like ice in his chest and his blood thunder in his veins?

Molly shot a glance at the bed where Bill was lying, and then turned in her seat, leaning forwards and lowering her voice. "I know what you all think of me," she said. "You think I'm a stupid, middle-aged woman who should learn to keep her nose out of other people's business."

"Molly, no – " Remus said, but she quietened him with a raise of her hand.

"And a lot of the time you'd be entitled to think so, and I haven't always been right – " Her eyes flickered momentarily to Fleur, and then back again to his, and she leaned closer. "But I'm right about this."

Remus tried to form a word or two of protest, but they didn't come. "I lost two brothers in the last war," Molly said, her fists clenching determinedly in her lap around her handkerchief. "And I miss them, every day. Arthur is a wonderful man, and I have the best family I could wish for – but I _miss_ them. I miss their comfort, their teasing, the way they'd call me all the names under the sun with a glint in their eyes that said they didn't really mean it. I miss what they were to me, and they'll never be replaced – "

Molly broke off, her eyes darting around the room and then across her lap, her hands twisting the handkerchief as they rested on her robes.

"Go on," Remus said, and smiled at her encouragingly.

"I understand," she said. "I understand how you felt when Sirius – passed over – but you can't use it as an excuse to run away from the other people you care about."

"It's not that," Remus said, quietly, and although Molly smiled at him with great understanding, the look in her eyes said she disagreed.

"All that business with Percy," she said, glancing up at the ceiling, her expression lined with regret, "you were the only one who understood, knew what it was like to feel betrayed by someone – family. You were the only one who really understood how I worried for him and felt guilty all at the same time, and you were the only one who ever really made me feel better."

"Oh Molly," he said.

"So when I say this, you should realise that I'm only trying to return the favour," she said curtly, and Remus nodded, even though he was a little wary about what might be coming next. Molly took a sharp breath, and then met his eye. "You're being a bloody fool," she said.

For a second, Remus couldn't say anything at all, and so he just stared at her, open-mouthed, trying to gather his wits. Fleur turned in her seat, too, and she raised an eyebrow at him slowly in consideration, then nodded, before turning back to Bill, taking his hand, and muttering something in French. "I – you know my reasons," Remus said.

"I do," Molly said, her cheeks puffed out. "And there isn't one of them holds water. Love doesn't cost you anything, so it's piffle that you're too poor, and how can you be too old for it? It's codswallop, Remus."

"I'm still – " He glanced at Bill. " – a werewolf."

"But she knew," Molly said, earnestly. "She knew that, and she fell in love with you anyway. It's not fair to put that up as a barrier after the fact."

"It's – we're dangerous."

"Nonsense."

"How can you say that?" he said, a little louder than he'd intended as he gestured at the bed. "How can you say that after you've seen what I'm capable of?"

"No," Molly said. Her eyes darkened, and her tone was so certain – forceful, even, that it seemed to echo and linger in the room, reverberating with something deep inside him. "I have _not_ seen what you are capable of. I've seen what _Fenrir Greyback_ is capable of, and I'll bet he was a wicked, evil man long before he was a werewolf."

"Molly – "

"Listen to me," she said. "My children are the most precious thing in the world to me. Do you really think I would have let you anywhere near them, allowed you to _sleep in my house_, if I thought for _one_ second you were capable of something like that?"

Remus stalled. There was some kind of protest half-formed on his lips, but he wasn't entirely sure what it was, and whatever it was that had reverberated inside him did so more loudly. He swallowed, heavily, and Molly's face softened a little, but it was no less determined than it had been.

"When I look at you," Molly said, tilting her head to one side, "I see a fool, not a monster, Remus. All she's asking is for you to let yourself love her like you obviously want to. It's not really so very difficult, is it?"

Remus shifted in his seat, wondering why the room suddenly felt so stuffy. Was it really that simple?

"She eez right," Fleur said, peering at him rather haughtily.

"Thank you, dear," Molly replied.

"Love eez too precious to throw away because you zink you don't deserve eet."

Remus looked at them, from Fleur, to Molly, and then back again, and two pairs of set, determined, indignant, almost, eyes met his.

Were they right?

He couldn't think.

But something more compelling than thought was humming inside him.

He wasn't like Greyback, was he? They'd lived similar lives, perhaps, but the choices they'd made couldn't have been more different –

And, certainly, whenever he and Tonks had been out, he'd had to count every knut carefully to make sure he had enough – but she'd never minded, had she? And she'd certainly never made him feel as if he was any less than she wanted because of it.

And being with her –

She'd made him feel as young and alive as he ever had at fifteen, planning adventures and laughing with his friends.

He couldn't lose her.

What would he do if he did?

He'd be a shadow, a shadow of who he was, of what he'd always wanted to be.

He swallowed. This didn't seem the kind of thing it was a good idea to make a snap decision about –

But then, months of thinking had only made him more confused, and he'd made a snap decision when he ended things, hadn't it? Maybe if he wanted to put things right, he needed to make another one.

"I think I should – erm – "

His eyes darted to the door, his heart pounding louder than ever at the thought, and Molly and Fleur exchanged another glance, and even a smile. "I think you should, too," Molly said.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, I know. Evil, evil, evil cliffy. I'm hoping to have the final chapter up soon, though :). Reviewers get customary bribes: a word or two of advice from either Fleur, Molly, or Remus, whoever you think might have the most to say. But if you pick Remus, just do exactly the opposite of what he thinks, 'k? ;) **


	9. Over The Rainbow

**A/N: For Gilpin, who's a wonderful friend, and this one's her favourite…. She also (unintentionally) gave me this chapter's title, which had previously been the source of much internal debate, strife and sleepless nights, but I loved the idea, and thought it very fitting...**

* * *

They sat side by side on the steps leading up to the Entrance Hall, not speaking. 

Remus watched a breeze rustle the trees, a bird fly overhead and land on the grass just in front of them, and Tonks shifted next to him, drawing her knees tighter to her chest, staring fixedly at her boots.

He knew he should say something, and there was so much he wanted to –

But he wondered what he could possibly say that would encompass the enormity of what he felt. He had a myriad thoughts – more feelings – how could he possibly put them into mere words?

He could just about feel the warmth of her arm on his – and the one thought that raised its head above all others was that being near her was making him feel alive for the first time in months. And it wasn't something he'd been aware of lacking, but –

He hadn't realised how grey and dark the world had felt without her.

He wondered what on earth Tonks was thinking, if she had the same thought pulsing in her veins he did, that he just wanted this to be over so they could be them again, even though he didn't know if that was possible, or how he'd make it happen. He glanced at her, but her face was turned away, her eyes fixed on her boots and her hair falling across her cheek.

Merlin, he'd missed her.

It was like Molly had said – he'd had other people in his life, but they hadn't – couldn't – replace her; he'd missed what she was to him. He'd missed the way she poked fun at him, the way her eyes lit up in amused annoyance sometimes when she looked at him. He'd ached to hear her laughter – not just because of the sound of it, but because of the way it made him feel to be the cause of it.

And Merlin, he wanted that back.

He wanted, more than anything, to have a conversation like the ones they'd had at Grimmauld late at night, where they'd teased and flirted until they couldn't tell the difference – or one of the ones they'd had when all of that was in the past, because she'd always made it so easy to talk, even about things he normally found difficult.

In fact, he wanted anything other than what they'd had for the last few months –

But how on earth did he make that happen, after everything?

Was it even possible?

He ran a hand over his jaw, trying to ease the tension out of it, but failing, and Tonks shot a glance at him over her arms, resting on her knees.

Remus supposed he just had to say something, and see what happened, because they couldn't just sit and _not_ talk because he was afraid he didn't have the right thing to say.

He shifted a little on the step.

"So how've you been?" he said, forcing casualness, as if he was making small talk with an old friend he was embarrassed about not owling.

Tonks laughed, just a little, and he bit back a smile, not wanting to hope too quickly, even though his stomach churned at the sound. "Awful," she said, her tone a few shades lighter than the word deserved, although her voice cracked, a little. "You?"

"Worse," he said, glancing up at the sky and staring, for a moment, at nothing in particular.

When he let his gaze return, she turned her head to look at him, and he met her eye, offering her half a smile.

He'd meant it as a joke, almost, because it didn't seem entirely wise to launch straight into any of the more earth-shattering things he thought he _might_ say, but after a moment's consideration, he wondered if that wasn't the most honest thing they'd said to each other in months.

And it was the truth, wasn't it? He _had_ been worse than awful without her, and by the look of things, she hadn't fared much better.

Tonks shifted, sat up a little, cradling her hands and her wand in her lap. "I'm sorry," she said, "for what I said in front of everyone – "

"No," he said. "You shouldn't apologise for that."

"I think I should – "

"Well," he said, gently, "I don't want you to."

Tonks let out an amused breath, nodded, smiled a little, and stared at her fingers as they toyed absentmindedly with her wand.

Remus thought that maybe he should say that _he_ was the one who should be apologising for letting things become as twisted and impossible as they had, that although he agreed that the timing of her outburst hadn't been ideal, he understood why the sight of Bill in bed and Molly and Fleur arguing about who loved him most had made her say what she had –

But he didn't even really know where to start when it came to telling her how her words had affected him, the chain reaction of thoughts they had set off, how he hadn't slept for wondering if he could really believe that she meant them.

And so, they lapsed back into silence.

He watched the bird that had landed in front of them hop merrily across the grass, and after a moment, Tonks cleared her throat. "You must think I'm so pathetic," she said, fiddling with her skirt, "pining after you."

"Of course I – "

"I am, though," she said. "I can't even change the colour of my bloody hair."

She tugged a strand down over her forehead and looked at it sadly, then pushed it back again. "You can't – not at all?" he said, and she shook her head. "Why?"

"Dunno," she said, shrugging. "It's never happened before. At first, I just couldn't be bothered, and then when I tried, it just didn't happen."

She was attempting to be nonchalant, he thought, but her voice cracked just slightly, belying the casualness of her words, and so he shuffled closer, resting his shoulder against hers. Tonks swallowed, studying the laces on her boots with entirely false fierce concentration. "It's like – " she said, " – I don't know. Like inside somewhere, I just don't want to. Like I want to look like this, because this is how I feel and anything else would just be a lie."

"Oh."

The word felt wholly inadequate to both what she was saying – confiding – and the knot in Remus' stomach.

He swallowed.

"It's all right," she said. "It's not the end of the world, is it? I think some people quite like me less colourful – although Fleur said that if I was going to get stuck with anything, something in an auburn would have been more flattering to my complexion."

Tonks attempted a laugh, but it faltered on her lips, and Remus' chest constricted. It had never occurred to him that leaving would affect her so – intrinsically. The thought that he should have been there for her twisted in his stomach – he should have noticed sooner, he thought, taken Dumbledore's hint that she wasn't herself more to heart – but he'd been so consumed by everything else going on between them –

"I didn't know," he said quietly.

"Yeah, well," she said, meeting his eye with a rather wry smile, "we've been rather too busy arguing about other things, lately, haven't we?"

He let out a short, amused sigh. "Indeed," he said.

He paused for a moment, apologies and proclamations half-formed on his lips – but however he looked at it, he couldn't change what he'd done – he couldn't take it back, however much he thought he'd like to.

He couldn't change what he'd done, he thought, but he could stop doing it.

That's what he'd come here to say, wasn't it? That he didn't want things to go on like this, with awkward glances in corridors when they crossed paths, arguments about things he wasn't even sure mattered, stilted conversation on steps when there was so much more he wanted to say.

He had to at least try, didn't he, to get back what they'd had?

"About that – "

"You don't have to explain, Remus," she said, shaking her head rather wearily. "I know what you're saying – and I understand. I know us being together wouldn't always be easy, I'm not blind to that – but – well, I just think it'd be worth it. But I've said that before and you seem to disagree, so…."

She trailed off into another shrug and sighed, a mixture of resignation, disappointment, and maybe even irritation, and ran her fingernail along the grain of her wand, her eyes fixed on what she was doing.

Remus swallowed.

His blood thundered through his veins.

He'd come here to tell her that everything he'd said – well, he hadn't meant it, not all of it, or he had, but maybe he'd been wrong –

But at the thought of saying that out loud, his heart leapt worryingly and his brain didn't seem to know any words any more –

But if he didn't –

Molly had been right. Tonks wouldn't wait forever, and the thought of losing her – of not even having this –

"No," he said softly. "I don't. I don't disagree at all."

Tonks' fingernail stopped its journey instantly, and she turned towards him more, her leg brushing closer to his. She looked up slowly, raised her eyebrows at him, and in her eyes he saw a flicker of something – hope she was trying to contain because she'd been disappointed so many times, or something else – intrigue, maybe, because he was saying something different.

It had never been a case of not thinking it was worth it, because to him it always had been – he'd just worried that it wasn't fair to her –

But even as he thought it, the importance he'd put on that diminished. She'd been so miserable without him – as miserable as he'd been without her. And that meant something, didn't it?

"I thought – " he said, " – I thought it was for the best. I thought you'd be better off without me."

"Remus, that's – "

"But then, well, you didn't – don't – seem to be," he said, cutting her off and seeing the protest she'd been about to make die on her lips.

"No," she said, and glanced down at her boots again, the tiniest hint of a smile straining where protest had been.

"And I'm – as previously mentioned – worse than awful without you."

He smiled tentatively, wondering why his heart had abandoned its normal rhythm for something altogether more staccato, if it was pounding so loudly that she could hear it.

He waited to see what she thought, wanting to look away, to see what that bird was up to – to look at anything but her to keep his nerves from fraying away altogether, but he couldn't, and the next few minutes passed achingly slowly.

After a moment, Tonks raised her gaze to his, her eyes still guarded, and the thought that he'd disappointed her so many times that she didn't quite want to give in to the hope he saw in there too tugged painfully at his chest.

"Then, why?" she said, and it was such a simple question, and she asked it with such a look of incomprehension, it took his breath away.

For a moment, he stared at the grass, trying to get it all straight in his head – but he'd had nearly a year to think about it and he still couldn't quite fathom it. He flattened his palms on his thighs, thinking hard, but he'd thought about it for so long already, and it seemed obvious that the answer wasn't going to drop into his lap in a matter of seconds.

Why? Why had he done it?

He supposed the simple answer was because he loved her, and because he'd thought of a million different reasons why it wouldn't work, why it was for the best that she find someone else.

And that sounded simple, he thought, but it wasn't, because _why_ he'd thought that was endlessly complicated.

He toyed with a loose thread on his trousers, and after a moment, an idea fixed in his mind, stubborn and resolute. He'd made a snap decision, hadn't he? He'd decided that he just wanted to see her – damn the consequences, almost – and tell her how he felt –

And the thought made his mouth dry and his palms distinctly not – but if he didn't say something –

Remus took a deep breath, flexing his fingers and then settling them back on his thighs. This wasn't the time to think about whether it was the right thing to say, to weigh if it was enough – he just had to tell her how he'd felt, explain, and then maybe they could move on.

"I was confused," he said, with a vaguely apologetic smile. "I want so much for you, and it didn't seem likely – possible, even – that I could be the kind of person who was right for you."

He paused, a little startled how easily the words had flowed from him when he'd spent so long trying to explain it to himself. "And at the same time – " He swallowed, and she looked up, meeting his eye and holding his gaze, even though her brow was tense and he knew she was nervous about what he was going to say. " – I wanted, so desperately, to try to be."

Tonks smiled slightly in understanding, and Remus leant back, running a hand through his hair. "I wanted to do what was right, regardless of whether it coincided with what I wanted – I just couldn't decide what that was. I still can't." He clenched his fist in his hair, feeling on the verge of something that made his insides squirm. "But now," he said, "I'm wondering if maybe the reason I can't make a decision is that – it's not mine to make."

He stopped.

He wasn't even sure if that thought had fully formed in his head before he'd let it out of his mouth – but all of a sudden, everything felt just a little bit clearer.

That was it, wasn't it? If there was a correct decision, he'd have found it by now, wouldn't he? And yet months of thinking had yielded nothing but abject confusion.

"I don't think it was my place," he said, quietly, "to decide what was best for you – for us. I should have trusted you to make your own decision."

He let his hand fall back into his lap, because now he'd said it, it seemed blindingly obvious.

For a moment, he just looked at her, his heart pounding and his blood thumping because he didn't know if he'd said the right thing, if it was enough. He watched her face for any trace of a reaction – but it was impassive, as if she was going over what he'd said, trying to figure something out.

A minute passed – two, perhaps – and dread settled in his stomach. He hadn't said the right thing.

Panic flashed through his veins, and he wanted to get up, walk away –

But just when he was about to get to his feet, make some excuse to leave, Tonks' lips parted, and slowly – far _too_ slowly for how impatient he felt – a smile, slight, but wonderfully real, crept across her face. "Well," she said, "I have been trying to say that."

He sniggered – partly in relief and partly because it was true – and ran a hand over his jaw. "Thanks," he said. "It's gracious of you not to play the 'I told you so' card."

"I know," she said, and her smile broadened.

She bumped his shoulder with hers, and, for a moment, they just smiled at each other.

It was the first proper, genuine smile they'd shared in months, and everything felt new – but familiar, too, and he liked it, more than he had words to say. He was aware that he was breathing a little more quickly than usual, and his lungs felt full of light rather than air, and – he couldn't explain it.

The ache he'd had in his chest, though, loosened a little, and for the first time in months, the future he'd half-imagined started to swim back into focus. "Are you going to call me a git now, or...?"

"I might save it for later," she said. "Besides, I always knew you were a git, so I'm not entirely sure I can hold it against you."

He chuckled, and then reached for her hand, folding it into his. He met her eye tentatively, checking it was ok, and she smiled a little wider, and squeezed his fingers. "Why didn't you?" she said. "Why didn't you trust me to know what I wanted?"

Remus shook his head, trying to put into words what he'd thought at the time – but now, it seemed vaguely insulting that he'd thought he had to protect her, when she was so brave, and capable.

He could make excuses, tell her that what had happened at the Ministry had really shaken him, that when he'd held her in his arms on the hospital floor and thought her fragile it had changed the way he thought about her –

But it was just that, an excuse, and the more he thought about it, the more it seemed that everything that had happened was more to do with him than her.

At the heart of it, he supposed, was that what he'd had with Tonks was something he'd never expected to have. The depth of his feelings – and hers – had taken him by surprise – and at first, it had all felt like a wonderful revelation.

But then, when Dumbledore had asked him to go away, he'd started to question whether what he thought they'd felt was real – and he'd thought that it couldn't be, because wonderful things just didn't happen to people like him.

"I just – I don't know," he said. "It sounds so pathetic to say I thought I couldn't possibly be what you wanted – that I wasn't good enough – but – it's the truth."

"You really are an emotionally-crippled wanker."

Remus almost chuckled – but when she looked at him, even though she was smiling, her eyes were deadly serious. She glanced down at their hands and then back up again, looking at him through her eyelashes. "I don't want to give you a big head," she said, her fingers tightening their grip on his, "but it breaks my heart to hear you say that, because you _are _good enough."

She held his gaze, and he knew she was utterly sincere. He swallowed, and she smiled, slightly, leaning into him a little, her dark eyes sparkling in a way he'd thought they might have forgotten how to. "In fact," she said softly, "you're better than good enough. _More than_ better than good enough – _more than_ more than better than good enough."

His pulse raced, and he chuckled, looking down at her hand in his. "I don't know how I ever gave you the impression that I wanted anything more from you than what you had to offer," she said.

"You didn't."

For a moment, they just sat, her fingers gripping his and his gripping back, and he thought that of all the things she could have said, that was the one, the thing he'd needed to hear, although a moment ago, he wouldn't have known it at all.

He closed his eyes, savouring the warmth – the comfort – of her fingers twined with his, and tried to swallow the surge of emotion – relief and gratitude and embarrassment and nervousness that all became indistinguishable from each other – in his chest.

The more he thought about it –

No, she'd never done anything to make him feel that she wanted anything more – but he hadn't trusted it.

He opened his eyes and stared at his knees, and when he raised the hand that wasn't clutching hers to run it along his jaw, it was shaking.

He'd thought that she was settling, that she liked him enough to sacrifice what she wanted –

Maybe he'd always half-thought she was just saying what she was saying to be kind –

Or maybe he just hadn't dared to hope that she meant it.

He'd thought she'd come to regret the decision to be with him, that she'd made it rashly, perhaps, that he had to think for both of them to do what was right for her.

It had never occurred to him that it wasn't like that at all, that he could be – _was_ – what she wanted, that in fact, he was to her exactly what she was to him.

And he didn't know quite why –

Or maybe he was back to having not dared to hope.

He met her gaze slowly, smiled apologetically, wondering if he had to find a way to explain all that, or if she'd known all along, because she always had seen through him.

She smiled back, and he thought the latter was probably the case, and he almost laughed at the thought, but couldn't, because a lump seemed to have taken up residence in his throat.

It didn't seem possible that she could feel for him what he felt for her – but then it didn't seem entirely possible that any man had felt for any woman what he felt for her –

But that was how it was supposed to feel, wasn't it?

And now he thought about it, his doubts had always been baseless – she'd never given him any reason to think he wasn't what she wanted. He pressed his fingers into his chin, thinking that, at his age, it was a bit foolish to be quite so dominated by his insecurities.

Tonks shifted on the step, knocking the toes of her boots together and letting her eyes dart back to them for a moment. "Anyway," she said, "since we're having a cards-on-the-table moment, there's something else you should know." He looked up, and she frowned a little, as if she wasn't quite sure of what she was about to say, but determined to say it anyway. "It's something about me," she said. "Something that – changed when you left."

"Your Patronus," he said, softly.

"How did you..?" she said, eyes widening, before her frown deepened. "Snape – I bet he couldn't wait to – "

"No," Remus said. "Harry, but – unintentionally. He doesn't know what it means."

Tonks nodded, then swallowed, and met his eye tentatively. "Do you?" she said quietly, and Remus smiled.

"I think so," he said, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand.

"Scared the hell out of me the first time I saw it," she said. "I mean you think it's something you can count on, don't you, your Patronus? For a moment I thought I hadn't Conjured one at all, and it was someone else's."

"I can imagine."

"Honestly, though," she said, half of her mouth hitching into an uncertain smile, "I don't think I knew, until you were gone, how much I – cared. I mean we'd talked – you know – about the future a bit, and I was starting to – well more than starting to – think maybe…. But it wasn't until you'd gone that I realised…. "

She let her words, and the implication, hang in the air, and her eyes met his. He knew she was waiting to see what he thought, whether he'd agree that yes, they had been heading for something unwavering and wonderful – and he'd say it, he thought, because he had thought that, too – but there was something else he needed to say first, he thought, something she needed to see. In truth, it was something he probably should have shown her a long time ago, but –

He hadn't been ready.

He wasn't even sure he was now, but she deserved to see – to know – because he wasn't sure any of this would have happened, if –

He shifted on the step, and she leant back – surprised, he thought, or wary even, fearful that she'd said too much – and so he smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring fashion and took out his wand. "In the interests of complete honesty," he said, and then closed his eyes.

To his side, Tonks made some kind of noise of slightly startled question, but he tried to ignore it, to focus. He wondered if he'd even be able to Conjure one. He hadn't tried in so long –

He thought of her. He thought of that morning, hung-over, when he'd offered to take her out for Chinese and her eyes had sparkled in reply – and then of them both on the sofa, with her head in his lap, when he'd watched her sleep and later she'd said she thought of the future as something with him in it. He thought of tenacious hopefulness, and her hand, curled into his, a perfect fit, and what it all meant – and when he opened his eyes, in the next instant, there, on the grass in front of them, was a shimmering, but unmistakable, form.

His Patronus. It looked around expecting something to chase off, and, finding only a sparrow on the grass rather than a hoard of Dementors, it turned and faced them, its head on one side, inquiringly.

"Bloody hell, Remus," Tonks said. "Is that..?"

"Padfoot? Yes," he said, and, even though she'd guessed, her eyes widened.

"But wasn't it – "

"It changed," he said. "After Sirius died."

Tonks reached for his hand, her fingers slipping between his, and she raised her eyebrows at him encouragingly to go on. "I'm not sure I knew, either, how much I'd miss him, how much I'd counted on him being there," he said. "I never expected to lose him twice."

"Of course not."

"I don't know exactly how it works," he said. "Maybe I just didn't want to lose the memory of what he and James did for me, and Harry already had Prongs…."

He swallowed, allowing his grip to tighten on her fingers. "So yes, I know what it means. And I'm – " He let out a quick, amused sigh before meeting her eye. " – is flattered the right word?"

Tonks chuckled breathily. "I don't know," she said. "I think it makes us about as pathetic as each other, though."

He chuckled too, shifted closer, pressing his arm into hers – and when she leaned into him too, his insides soared. She shot a glance at the Patronus on the grass, and then met his eye, smiling tentatively, but a little cheekily, too. "He'd have laughed his arse off, wouldn't he?" she said, and Remus chuckled harder.

"Yes," he said. "I'd have never heard the end of it."

Their eyes met for a second that seemed to last forever – and there was so much more he wanted to say – he hadn't even said sorry, or told her that he loved her, and he still didn't know what would happen, if they were together, or not quite, yet –

But as he looked at her, and she looked back, something seemed to flow between them – some silent acknowledgement of everything that had happened, an understanding, maybe, of what and why.

And the air tingled around them.

It made him feel almost nervous –

But he wouldn't have looked away for anything, because there was something too exciting in Tonks' eyes – hopefulness, he thought, as tenacious as it ever had been, and this time, he felt it too.

And maybe they weren't quite together yet, he thought, but they'd never been entirely apart, and somewhere inside him, the thought stirred that they never would be.

Maybe all he'd ever had to do to make his half-imagined future a reality was dare to hope it would happen. And now, he thought, he did. And it was nerve-wracking and terrifying because he didn't know if she felt the same – but exciting, too, because she very well might –

At the thought, he shuffled closer, pressing his leg into hers, and when she didn't move away, he let go of her hand, and put his arm around her, because he couldn't not. He scuffed her shoulder with his thumb, thinking of all the times over the last year that they should have sat like this, talked about the various things they both would no doubt have liked to share –

She turned and buried her face in his neck, her arms fastening firmly round his waist – and he let out a heavy breath, relief and apology combined. She pushed herself closer to him, and when she did, he tightened his grip, because how could he have thought it was for the best for either of them not to have this?

Maybe Molly had been right, he thought. Maybe he'd pushed Tonks away because he was afraid he'd lose her anyway, and he'd wanted it, at least, to be on his terms.

Maybe he _had_ thought that he didn't deserve her, that there was no way someone as wonderful as Tonks would choose him for the right reasons –

Maybe he'd been scared to start believing in forever, in case he was wrong – or maybe he'd just thought that werewolves didn't deserve happy endings.

Did it matter though, now, what his reasons had been?

Tonks was in his arms, and his face was in her hair, and they were clinging to each other, and nothing else seemed to exist, let alone matter. He took a deep breath, winding his arms tighter around her, wanting to reassure himself that this was real, she was real, and he wasn't lost in some fantasy –

He could feel her heartbeat, thundering against his chest, smell her hair, feel her skin on his. Her breath was rapid and hot against his neck, and her fingers splayed insistently on his back –

It was real, he thought, wonderfully real, even though he could scarcely believe it.

For what felt like ages, they just sat, side by side on the steps leading up to the Entrance Hall, not talking –

And they hadn't said everything that needed saying, but this, _this_ felt like what they needed.

For another moment, they just sat, with her head on his shoulder and their arms around each other, his fingers wandering up and down her back –

But there was one thing, he thought, that couldn't wait to be said out loud, implied as it might have been for a long time.

Slowly, he took her face in his hands, drawing her just far enough away from him so that he could look at her. He pushed her hair back from her face clumsily with his fingers –

"I love you," he said.

Her breath hitched slightly – he thought his might have, too, and for a moment, he was just lost in her dark eyes, too lost to even properly register her reaction. But he didn't want to look away, even to let his gaze rove her face – and then she smiled, and let out a rather choked laugh. "Good," she said, and he grinned, and –

He hadn't intended to – it wasn't why he'd said it, he'd just said it because he couldn't not – but she was so close, and he already had her face in his hands –

He leant forward and kissed her, softly, just once, to see, letting his lips linger just slightly longer than he'd intended –

He drew back – but it was only a moment before her lips were on his. They were warm and insistent, and in her kiss was a promise of something – something that meant he couldn't resist kissing her back with everything, everything he'd held back, everything he had.

Her hands slid up his back, over his shoulders, and her fingers twisted in his hair –

And he'd kissed her hundreds – thousands, maybe, even – of times before, but not like this. It was more, somehow, because now he was unafraid to let her see – _feel_ – exactly what he felt for her. And when she kissed him back and her fingers raked through his hair, for the first time, he believed what he felt.

When she pulled away, breathless as he was, and hugged him tightly to her, they both laughed a bit, although in a rather croaky fashion, and so he held her to him. "I love you so much," he said, smoothing her hair with his fingers, "more than I ever thought I'd love anyone. And I'm so sorry for everything – and sorry isn't nearly a big enough word to cover it – and I'd understand, completely, if you didn't want anything more to do with me – "

He half-wondered where the words had come from, because he'd thought he'd struggle for them, but there they were, and when she twisted in his arms to look at him, all the words he'd planned to say next fell away. "I didn't do all this," she said, gesturing vaguely between them, "for us not to end up together. You're stuck with me."

Remus chuckled, taking her face in his hands again, because he couldn't think of anything better than being stuck with Tonks –

"And – " she said, stopping his thoughts in their tracks. She bit her lip and then looked up at him, smiling slightly. " – I love you too," she said. "You know, in case you were wondering."

He laughed, although the noise caught in his chest a little, and he stroked her face with his thumb, trying to concentrate on the sensation of her skin beneath his fingers, her eyes on his, looking at him like _that_, so he could remember it forever.

So much had happened –

His head span and his heart thumped, but two things shouted out from the swirl, louder than all the others: she loved him, and she thought he was good enough.

He glanced at his Patronus, still sitting on the grass in front of them, and he thought he saw it brighten a little, seem a little more solid than it had before, and as he smiled, the dog nodded, turned on its heel and bounded away after the sparrow.

This time, when he kissed her, the world, and all the worries and doubts and insecurities it held, melted away. And they weren't gone forever – he knew that – but it was nice to be free of them for a while, and he couldn't help thinking he'd banished a few of them for good.

* * *

He woke up before she did, and, for a moment, he just watched her sleep. 

She had one arm curled under her pillow, and her tiny, fluttering snores worked their usual magic on his insides. Most of the sheets were tangled around her, but he didn't mind. With a scrap of duvet and her next to him, he was warmer than he had been for months, and he smiled at the thought of how he might wake her up, what they might do when he did.

He hadn't expected this to happen.

He'd wanted to stay on that step forever – but she'd still been on patrol, and he'd thought that if he never got up, his former pupils might have been a little shocked at his behaviour.

She'd joked about rubbish timing, and he'd said better late than never, and they'd shared a grin. She'd told him that she was still staying at the Three Broomsticks and he could pop round later, but he'd said he'd wait – that she'd waited nearly a year, he could stand an hour or two, and as she'd walked away, gone back to her patrol, he'd been struck by a thought, which still felt as wondrous to him now as it had when it had first formed.

He'd made her happy.

And it wasn't just that – he hadn't set out to make her happy, even tried – he'd done what he wanted, and it had made her happy. The possibility that the two could go hand in hand, that it wouldn't necessarily be selfish to pursue what he wanted, had almost bowled him over, it seemed so enticing.

Remus had spent the afternoon at Bill's bedside, but in rather more hopeful mood than he'd spent the morning, and at one point, Bill had stirred, woken up for a little while. They'd explained what had happened, and after a moment's hesitation, he'd looked at Fleur's fingers, twined with his, cracked a smile, and said it didn't matter, that Fleur obviously wanted him for his money, anyway.

And Fleur had laughed, sworn at him in French, then cried a little –

Molly had fussed around them both, and Remus had watched as Bill took the women in his life in, understanding, he thought, what had happened between them.

Tonks had appeared soon after, and they'd walked back to Hogsmeade together in the sunshine, saying some of the things they'd clearly both longed to say. They'd talked about Dumbledore, how they still couldn't quite believe what had happened, talked about the future for the Order, for Harry, for Hogwarts – and it was only when they got to the Three Broomsticks, and had slipped up the stairs and into her room, that he'd wondered what on earth they were going to do next.

It was a small room – he'd known, he supposed, that all it contained was a bed and a desk, but once they were in there with the door closed behind them, it had struck him that there really _was_ just a bed and a desk, and for a moment, he'd felt awkward. He hadn't wanted her to think he expected anything, that he thought they could just pick up exactly where they'd left off – even though a part of him had longed to.

He'd looked out of the window, remembering the last time he'd been there, thought that it felt like a different lifetime, a different person, a different world, even, because the things that had seemed important then didn't now, or did, but for different reasons.

Tonks had asked what he was thinking, and so he'd told her, and she'd slipped closer, had stood on her toes to kiss him. And the world had melted away again, and he'd allowed himself a moment to give in to what he wanted, which seemed to include his lips on her neck and her T shirt on the floor. It had only been when she'd started undoing his buttons that he'd pulled away – even as bits of his body protested at his protest.

He'd asked if it was really all right –

And she'd raised an eyebrow at him in amused annoyance, and said that he _knew_ she thought having her neck kissed was very much more than all right, and then had accused him of fishing for a compliment.

She'd looked at him, tentative invitation in her smile, and he'd known that everything hadn't been magically fixed, that the world hadn't really gone away –

But he'd thought, too, that if she was teasing him about fishing for compliments, she was more herself than she had been for ages, and with her, he felt more like _him_self, too….

He'd liked that they felt like them again.

And so he'd kissed her – and action had lead to reaction… and before long, what he hadn't intended was just happening.

They'd spent most of the night awake, talking, and – doing other things, things that he couldn't quite resist a smirk at the memory of.

She'd told him what it had been like being stationed in Hogsmeade, how sad it had made her to see some of the shops there and more in Diagon Alley close down, how she'd been so very proud of Fred and George for taking a stand and opening where others were shutting up shop. She'd talked about her problem metamorphosing more, too, told him about an incident where she'd tried to brew one of those colour-change hair potions because she was sick of the questions about it – only she hadn't been able to find one for pink, and so had improvised and caused a small explosion, which had brought Savage running down the corridor, expecting the worst.

He'd talked, too, about what he'd been doing. He'd told her about the werewolves, how they lived, what he'd done. In fact, he'd ended up telling her more than he'd imagined he would, but once he started, it didn't feel right to be anything other than completely honest, and he'd known without her saying so that she'd understand. He'd talked about what he hoped would happen, that maybe he'd managed to sew the seeds of doubt in some of their minds, that as time wore on, they'd come to see that Greyback's promises were false, and he'd been right.

They'd talked about them, too, how they felt, how useless they'd been without each other, finally falling silent around the time that the first light of dawn started pricking at the curtains.

He'd just revelled in the sensation of having her nestled against him, her head on his shoulder and her fingers splayed on his stomach, her breath tickling his skin, but just as sleep had been starting to more than beckon, his thoughts had drifted, and one last thing had stirred inside him. He'd shifted a little to look at her, and she'd murmured a protest as he'd asked if she was still awake, but had opened her eyes anyway, and met his gaze with a sleepy raise of one eyebrow.

And he'd asked her – when she thought about the future, was he still in it?

And maybe it hadn't been a fair question, so soon, but he'd had to ask, and the wait for her answer had been agony, even though it couldn't have been more than a second –

She'd swatted him on the shoulder and said, 'of course. It's nothing but you. It never was'.

And he'd grinned, then, positively _grinned_, and had asked her if she really meant it. With glorious predictability, she'd laughed and said no, although her twinkling eyes had given an altogether different answer, and he hadn't been able to resist pulling her closer and kissing her, trying to show her how very much her answer meant to him.

He thought that was how the sheets had become so impossibly tangled.

He knew it wasn't everything. There was a lot still to say, and so much was happening –

But they were _together_, without question or doubt or caveat, they were together, and that, he thought, was a start – a wonderful, glorious start.

Remus shifted closer, smiled as the bed creaked a warning of his intentions, and let his fingers drift up over Tonks' shoulder.

When she didn't stir, he inched closer still, pressing a kiss to her lips, and then another to her forehead. Her eyelids fluttered, and she smiled, a sleepy, "Wotcher," tumbling from her lips.

He leant in to kiss her properly, and as he did, he thought that the future he'd always half-imagined was gone.

It hadn't twisted away, though, because he was afraid to try and grasp it – now, it was fully-formed, and so real –

And he still couldn't quite make out the details, whether there was a cottage with roses round the door, and children in the garden and a ring on his finger, or not – but he knew that at the heart of it was the woman lying next to him.

"You're such a git," she said, mumbling her words against his mouth, "waking me up."

He smirked a little at the smile on her lips as she spoke, trailed kisses down her throat, and then moved away a bit so he could look at her. He let his fingers dally in her hair for a moment, and as they did, he thought he saw traces of colour beneath his fingers – golds and greens and oranges – even pinks. And they were still faint –

But they were there.

"You love me anyway," he said, biting back a grin without a great amount of success, and she rolled her eyes at him.

"Apparently," she said, and as her eyes met his, she grinned.

Remus laughed, and pulled her closer, his fingers still in her hair as he kissed her –

And as she ran her fingers up his arm and made his heart skip a beat, he couldn't help thinking that 'apparently' really had always been one of his very favourite words.

_ The End_

* * *

**A/N: Well, that's it - Over is over. Thank you very much for reading – and all your reviews have been very much appreciated. For my last bribe, I offer werewolves and hand-holding, to get you through Deathly Hallows and whatever JKR has in store.**

** On that front, ****it's been a bit of a race against the clock to get this finished, and other things that are less time-sensitive have taken a back seat, so apologies if you're waiting on those.****I've got a coda to this story to post this week, and if you'd like to read my idea for what might happen at the start of the next book, it's called Graveside Manna, and you'll find it in my profile. Enjoy Deathly Hallows : ).**


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